Red Roses for a Queen
by JennyFeather
Summary: After the war, a destitite Ginevra finds that marrying Lucius Malfoy is her only chance for survival. LuciusGinny HBP spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Prologue

I have often watched her silently when she is asleep. I am always there, hidden in shadow. She fascinates me, and for my life I cannot say why.

She purses her lips and her eyebrows furrow when she is thinking particularly hard about something. Sometimes it's the war, sometimes it's money, I can always read her.

I can't quite remember when I developed this obsession with her, I could say it was when she was eleven and I was thirty eight, from the beginning, but I would be lying. I'm a letch certainly, but as a rule I never bed children.

I think it was when she became an assignment, I was supposed to tail her and see if I could gain information about the Potter boy. And I did, but he had broken it off months before with a tearful tale of protecting her from his enemies. She had said so in a diary she kept between her mattress and box spring. I couldn't believe that she still kept a diary, stupid girl. And as it transpired, she knew nothing. Nobody ever told her anything. A fact that still infuriates me.

I had to tail her which incensed me in itself, I was second in command. And then I had to correct myself, I_ was_ second in command until that nasty incident at the Department of Mysteries. Tailing children is a job for less trusted Death Eaters. And then to add insult to injury I had to come back and tell my master that the girl knew nothing. Looking back I think he truly knew that I would find nothing when I searched her dresser, just panties. It was just myLlord's way of sticking it to me for letting Potter shag my only son. As if I could have stopped them from jail.

I kept a pair of those panties.

I still tailed her; I told my master that it was because I thought she may have information about where Potter was hiding. But looking back I think he knew the real reason and that he just chose to ignore it, or perhaps that he did not care. It was a mark of how mad he had become.

I have watched her undress many times before. I first thought her disgustingly plain, and then one day, I knew she was plain. Freckles dusted her shoulders and breasts, and one time I caught her fondling her own nipples as she blushed fetchingly into the mirror. I was standing behind her at the time and that was how I knew I would have to make her blush for me, over and over, and I would do the things that made her catch her lower lip in the same way between her teeth.

I watched her, invisible in the corner of her hovel, when she found out that her mother died. She sank to her knees; her hair whish she had begun to wear back, hanging in her face, and she screamed. She screamed as though she would never scream again.

Then and there (horrors of horrors) I found myself wanting to comfort her, and I have never wanted such a thing before. And for the first time in my life I have come very close to feeling repentant for my actions.

She made me feel that way. She has no idea what she does to me. How could she?

And I watched when each member of her family died, one by one. After the first three she became quiet, and finally the only one left was her and one estranged brother.

Her side won the war and I returned to the ministry at the very last second, when I knew the Dark Lord was a lost cause. But what was the cost? Was it your wife and son? Was it the dead look in her eyes?

But life, I daresay, does not always turn out for the best. The Wizarding world is destitute, though not the Malfoy's, or the only remaining Malfoy anyway. Draco died some months ago; he and Potter can be together forever now. Yes Potter died too, not unlike his father.

She is hauntingly beautiful, in everything she does. She has revived feelings in me that I haven't felt for twenty years. I want to hold her. God I'm loosing my edge.

I find my self craving something that I do not know. I used to entertain the notion that it was solely her youth and plain good looks that had me captured me so. I have never been able to resist young flesh beneath my own. But she isn't beautiful, only alluring. As to the difference, I'm still unsure.

I know she is going to starve if she doesn't do something soon. However I recently discovered that she did, she's working in some dung heap muggle restaurant as a waitress and I am disgusted with her. I know she is doing it to keep food in her mouth, and I have noticed the way her clothing hangs off of her and her eyes have a hollowed look. She looks like a corpse. But I love her, in my way.

I don't know how long he has been following me. I don't even know who he is. At first I had hoped that it was Harry, that he couldn't bear to be away from me, but Harry died. And that was when the news papers reported his love affair with Draco and I still felt a presence in my room at night. So I knew it could not be him, and I knew that I had had a seven year love affair with a dream. I've never felt so stupid before or since.

My life has become hard. I don't mean that I've fallen behind in school, I'm twenty next month. My boyfriend hasn't ditched me for someone else, I haven't dated in ages. I look so old. My eyes are hung with shadows and my face looks haggard, as though I've watched every member of my family die, which I have.

I'm becoming hard. As I think the words to myself I know that they are true and that I have little or no hope of escaping them. Sometimes I lay in bed at night, in the burrow, wearing every article of clothing that I own. I am still living like a woman of war. I wake up at night panicked and grope for my wand in the dark. And I know he's there. I can smell him, and he smells wonderful.

I don't know who he is. But the war is over and he's been there since before it ended. He hasn't killed me yet, but that doesn't mean he won't. And to be completely honest with myself, I don't know that I would care if he did.

I'm working now. It's a muggle restaurant, muggles are the only ones hiring these days. I scrub floors and wait tables, it's back breaking work. I know that he watches me sweat, and on my break sometimes I sit on the back of the toilet seat and cry brokenly. That's the only place he doesn't follow me.

But he's every where else. Sometimes I know when he's there and then other times his scent catches me by surprise. I don't mind anymore that he's seen me naked; he's seen me many times before I knew he was there. The first time I knew I wasn't imagining a presence was when I touched my breasts in front of the mirror that hangs on my wall. I smelt him and knew he was behind me; I blushed and caught my lip between my teeth.

I have to do something soon. I cannot live from meal to meal, minute to minute the way I have been. My hours have been cut at work. I think they've noticed that my hair is thinner than it was when I started and my face is sunken in.

I need someone to save me but I have come to recognize that no one will. I would sell my soul for something whole and warm and tangible. I am craving something that I do not know. I've never felt so desperate, not even during the war. This is it; this is my half life that I am doomed to lead. I've never known a twenty year old that was so jaded. I'm just lucky I guess.

God I need something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Warnings**: HBP spoilers and attempted rape.

**Authors notes:** Thank you to all of you who have reviewed! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. If you're not already, please be aware that this story has dark themes and yes, it's a bit depressing. It will get better I think, but don't quote me, I haven't finished it yet! Cheers, JennyFeather

Chapter one – The Ghost of a Girl

Its early fall now, and as I walk the streets of London I can feel the rain drizzling down on me and the pavement that supports me. The sky is gray and the wind is a bitter and constant friend. It is unseasonably cold and I should have a cloak, or at least a warmer coat. But what I have I'm wearing. It's thin and pink, and it clashes horribly with my hair.

The muggles I pass do not see me, or at any rate they do not notice me. That is how I feel these days. I wonder, as I move through crowded streets and into rooms full of people, if they would notice me if I were alive. I'm not dead, my body walks and talks, and occasionally it eats, but I know that I am worse than a ghost. I work and sleep, and intermittently I have to ask Percy for money. The first time was humbling, he had not forgotten the last time he saw me. It was at mum's service, and he had not forgotten the the time before that at Christmas. Then we saw each other more regularly, though we did not speak. We sat through service after service, looking at each other and wondering which one of us would go first. Who would be at whose funeral next time?

I have never been close to Percy, though even if I had I wouldn't tell him that I'm being haunted. I wouldn't tell him an invisible man watches me undress, that he's probably watching me now. I wouldn't tell him and he probably wouldn't ask, that I masturbate while I know that he's in the room.

I wouldn't tell him or anybody that asked that as I hang my horrid pink coat on a peg by the door, I crave something familiar, something warm. If it were something that I could hold or that alternatively could hold be back. Something that could make me feel anything other than suffering loss, make me weep or smile or be who I was before, before any of this.

Anything that could make me care again. If it could make me smile as I carry heavy trays of food. Anything that could make me fight back as a muggle in a business suit grabs my bum. Anything at all…

I set the last tray down on the stack and pull the restraint from my hair. My shift has been a blur of scrubbing and waiting and being sexually harassed. As I pushed the side door open, the one that leads to the alleyway behind the Bull and Priest tavern, I take a cigarette out of my coat pocket and light it. It fills me with a false release, and I sigh in the knowledge of it. It feels good to let my hair fall down my back and to fill my lungs with smoke. A tune that my mum used to sing fills my head and feel the corner of my mouth twitch before I let broaden into a half smile.

Crack!

The cigarette falls from my lips and I look to my left, my eyes raking the alleyway for the source of the sound. For there certainly was a sound, the sound of someone apperating. My hand fumbles for a moment in my pocket before extracting a wand.

"Lumos" I whisper, and the darkened alleyway is illuminated in wand light.

I wait, my chest heaves and I know in the back of my mind that I'll have to give up smoking. My eyes still rake the alleyway after five minutes have gone by, and I have to admit to myself that whoever apperated or disapperated into the alleyway is gone.

"Nox"

I bend to retrieve my cigarette still lit on the pavement by my shoes.

"All alone mishy"

I jump and stand strait, a man with a gravely voice and an overgrown beard is standing close to me. But he is not a wizard certainly. His clothing is old and smells ungodly, and I wish the way he was leering at me was unfamiliar.

"Leave me alone-"But he grabs my arm that had been reaching for my wand and pins it over my head on the side of the building. I try to scream, to fight, or to do anything that will get this loathsome creature off of me. It is useless, he is to strong and I know I cannot overpower him.

His hands are everywhere, and in my desperation I cry. Tears stream down my cheeks as he rips my coat to one side the buttons popping off and zinging around the alleyway. One of his hands is inside my skirt, inside of me and I gag.

He really is going to rape me. I begin to hyperventilate when he is being pulled off of me. I slide to the ground, to afraid to move.

"I believe the lady asked you to leave her alone" says a cold male voice "Crucio"

I have seen the affects this curse before. But this is the first time that I have had a sense of morbid satisfaction watching someone's body contort and writhe in pain.

It's a long moment before I realize that he is screaming. I look up and down the alleyway and hear the sound of footfalls and voices.

Muggles.

"Stop" I say. I look to my rescuer and feel the air leave my lungs. I recognize his face, but more importantly I recognize his smell. My head swims in comprehension, it is too impossible to believe.

Lucius Malfoy lifts his wand from his victim, my attacker, and looks narrowly at me. He looks down the alleyway and I know that he has heard it to.

He pockets his wand and offers me his arm, which I take numbly. I stand and look dazedly at him. My head is swimming because I can smell him and I know. He knows that I know too, because he has just given me a piercing look. I'm no great shanks at legimency but I know what he's doing.

Images flash before the insides of my eyelids and I know that he is probing me for information. But information for what? Certainly not the war.

One by one as though in fast forward they flash, and I feel them too. Harry saying goodbye to me at Dumbledore's funeral. Asking Percy for money. Crying in the girls' toilette at work. I go through the motions. I'm only dimly aware of the muggles getting closer when he grabs my arm to keep me from falling.

"Go!" he hisses, and I dissapperate with a pop.

I didn't know she was in the alleyway until I apperated there. It's the spot I often choose to stalk her from when she gets off work late at night. Also, and I'll only admit it to myself, there are dangers that I can't' stand for her to face.

She was smoking a cigarette when I surprised her. It fell gracefully from her lips and her hands stumbled in the freezing lane for her wand which she stored in a coat pocket.

"Lumos" and the alley was illuminated in an eerie light.

Her eyes were alive and bright with apprehension. Looking up one way and down the other, her wand at the ready, she chewed her bottom lip and her hair streamed down her back like a streak of sunset. My beautiful Ginevra.

I wasn't going to make my presence known when she stooped to retrieve her cigarette from the street. And when that vagrant attacked her I was going to wait and see if he only stole her purse. But soon I knew that he was after much more than her wallet.

My temper, I was famous for it in my youth, flared. Before I knew it I had disarmed the enchantment that kept me invisible and I was upon them. My wand was drawn and red clouded my vision, for he had dared to touch her in that sweet spot of hers.

I know it was reckless of me, and what can I tell you other than I am a man in love. That and I have a terrible jealous streak.

I didn't even know that I had used my bare hands to pull him away from her until he was on the ground screaming.

"I believe the lady asked you to leave her alone. Crucio"

Ginevra was on the ground sobbing, and I relished the fact that I was the one who saved her, not some bouncer from that seedy pub she works at. I was unaware that anything else existed except the fact that this petulant tramp was being tortured for assaulting the woman I have watched so carefully for these past months.

"Stop." Her voice pulled me from my trance, and as looked at her disheveled form I knew that she knew. Comprehension lit her tear streaked face as she realized who I was. It was bad form, I know, to use legimency against her in her damaged state. Though I do love her, I am still the man I always was.

I had already heard the sound of muggles approaching us and I knew that time was of the essence. It was almost troubling to look into her mind though, and in my softness for her I could only stand there searching her mind as the muggles came nearer and nearer to us.

"Go!" I hissed, almost as it was too late. And with a soft pop she dissapperated leaving me alone in the alleyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter two

My breathing is still heavy when I arrive at the burrow. My pulse is still racing when I ward the door behind me, and when I sip my tea, my teeth are still chattering.

Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. His name runs through my brain over and over again, but I still can't believe it. Even in my most lurid dreams I would have never imagined him as my stalker. I take two large gulps of tea and shudder. I shudder because I know that he has seen me in every way. Long time nemesis of my father's, the man who tried to kill me twice, has been watching me work, beg, and…and, oh Cerci.

I take a cigarette from my pocket and light it. I let the knowledge of what has happened sink in like poison. I'm not even aware that my clothing is still ripped as I inhale and think about what will happen when he comes back to the Burrow. And I am sure he will come back. He always does.

I remember reading about his wife in the daily prophet, or his late wife, as they put it. They said that she killed herself in her marble bath tub, and that Draco had found her. I can't remember if they mentioned Lucius in the article or not. It seems so long ago. I only saw her the one time, at the world cup. She was tall and beautiful, with perfect skin and teeth. But I was admittedly paying more attention to Harry than I was to her.

Lucius Malfoy. A trickle of fear rolls down my back, icy cold. He could have anyone. He's rich and gorgeous, but frankly a snob. I'm sure there are girls that would go for that sort of thing, I _know_ there are.

So why? Why, of all the people on this earth, has he been following me?

There is something not right here. But when has it ever been right? Before the war? To tell the truth I can't even remember, I can't and I won't. Because to remember would be to know that there was something else. A different life. A better, happier life, that included Harry and me getting married and having seven, read headed, green eyed children. A life where mum and dad grew old together, and Fluer and Bill had twins. Where Ron and Hermione settled down, and bickered lovingly for the rest of their lives. A life where there was still family tea at the burrow on Sundays, and mum swore up and down that Fred and George would blow up the house with one experiment or another.

A life that disappeared with out trace.

Suddenly I feel exhausted. There is a lump in my throat, and I feel as though my soul is on fire. I cannot weep, not anymore, and this whole business with Lucius Malfoy has just been the icing on the cake. There are no words to describe what I am feeling. Suddenly I have an epiphany that my emotions are something more, or less, I'm not really sure.

_Move on_, my mind urges me. But my conscious cannot abide, I am stuck in this limbo between two lives. The first, before the war, when life was glorious and Harry Potter came to the burrow on his white horse, and we rode off into the sunset holding hands and making daisy chains. And the second? A life of looking through trash bins for food in between degrading jobs? A life where I have seen half of my family murdered in front of my eyes? A life where I am being pulled down by the undertow and in all the swirling I cannot even thrash for fear of falling apart.

_Move on_, my mind urges me again, but I cannot. I have nothing to move on to.

The next day I see Percy. He's still at the ministry, though from what I hear, he was demoted after Fudge was pushed out of office. Apparently Dad was right all along, they were using Percy to spy against our family. When I arrive to his office he is bent low over a stack of parchment that takes over half of the postage sized office. He is as pompous and sullen as ever.

"What happened to your face?" he looks up from his work and down his spectacles expectantly.

My hands reach unconsciously my jaw bone. There are bruises there left from the night before.

"Oh." I say surprised. I don't want to tell Percy about what happened. I don't want to tell him because he'll ask questions and want to inform the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, I cannot bear the thought of revealing Lucius Malfoy as my stalker. The man who has watched every moment of my life for months.

"Nothing" I say dumbly "an accident, it was stupid"

He looks suspiciously at me for a second but doesn't press the issue.

"You don't look well Gin" he says abruptly "you're loosing weight and you clearly are not sleeping."

_Did you just notice?_ I long to ask him but I don't. Git, Fred and George were always right about him. The truth is I'm not sleeping. My night terrors are haunting me more regularly and I find myself looking around my room for signs of _him_. I can almost smell him if I close my eyes. If I close my eyes and hold my breath, I can feel him caressing my neck and shoulders. His fingers in my hair and his breath on my neck are something I have never known. It's killing me and keeping alive, he is what it is to be on fire and to be drowned all at once.

"-It's unhealthy Ginny, working with muggles, you're just like Dad…" Percy is still speaking but I can barely hear a word he's saying. I long to tell him to 'get bent', but I need the money that he's bound to give before I go. "Tomorrow night, and Lucius Malfoy-"

My head snaps up and I look at Percy with such unparalleled shock, that he stops speaking. "Ginny, what is it?" he says this with the air of indulging a child, but right now I don't care.

"What-um, what were you saying?" I ask tucking a hair behind my ears.

Percy pushes his glasses up on his nose indignantly and I can tell that he knows I haven't been listening to a word that he's said.

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

_Ah, there we are._

"I was talking about the Wulfric's Eve Ball at the Fudge's Manor tomorrow evening. Honestly Ginny, just like Fred and George…"

He doesn't notice, but my eyes narrow dangerously at the mention of Fred and George's names. "We told mum that he was a humongous pile of rat droppings…" my mouth quirks at the memory, but he doesn't notice. Head in the sand as always. I need a cigarette.

"-Apparently Lucius Malfoy donated generously to the reconstruction of the Ministry and they've given him a position on the Board of Trusties for-" Percy coughs suddenly and turns Pink.

"Mr. Malfoy" he chokes out

I whirl around in my chair. The color is draining from my face and heart is palpitating. He is standing in the door frame looking impeccable. My mouth hangs slightly open.

_Holy Hecate_.

"Mr. Weasley" as he drawls my surname his lip curls and I think I know why.

"I, I don't know if you've met my sister. This is-"

"We have met Mister Weasley. Ginevra" he nods to me and for a terrible second our eyes meet and something unnamable passes between us.

I long to say something that will excuse me from Percy's office. Anything that will allow me to flee. But my throat is dry and I find myself rooted to my chair. He is so close to me that I feel faint.

"Percy" I say with tremendous effort "I'll, um; I'll let you get back to work. It was good seeing you." I stand and move quickly out of his office shutting the door behind me. Suddenly, as though someone flicked a switch, I no longer feel anything but dread at the prospect of meeting Lucius Malfoy face to face.

My hair has come out of its restraint as I speed walk to the lift. My mind is set on doing nothing except for getting as far away from Lucius Malfoy as humanly possible.

As I arrive at the lift there is a crowd of wizards and witches waiting. I shift anxiously, looking back over my shoulder as I do so. I don't know how he could know that I was going to be there.

I jump when I realize that the lift is opening and the crowd is moving on. I slip in between to forlorn looking wizards, and just as the lift is about to close again a man steps in.

_Oh god _

"Lucius!" booms the wizard to my left.

"Tunture" Malfoy drawls "it has been to long"

"Indeed" he says to the wizard called Tunture, but his eyes are fixed unnervingly on me. I tuck my hair behind my ears in a nervous gesture that I am sure he must know.

The lift is moving now and I wish beyond hope that he will get out at the next floor. But the next floor comes and goes. And then the next after that, all the while the witches and wizards around us are filing out.

Finally it is only us and Tenture, who seemes to sense the tension between the two, but possibly out of fear or respect for Lucius Malfoy, says nothing.

"Ah," he says at level four "that'll be me. Afternoon Lucius," he nods to Lucius "Miss" he takes his hat off to me and does a half bow.

As the doors close I know that we are horribly alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_Author's apologies:_ You have to believe me; I am very sorry that it has taken me so long to update. I really have been busy (bad excuse I know.) But this chapter did not, like chapter two, seem to write itself. In fact it was quite like wading knee deep through mud. But I hope you forgive me and update anyway!

Chapter three: Kindness

He says nothing for several minutes. It is just us and the deafening sound of the lift as it carries us to ground level. I can smell him and for a moment andI feel as though transported back in time when I had the pleasure of regarding him as a nameless and faceless being. A phantom stalker.

My pulse is throbbing in the hollow of my throat when he begins to speak. My hair clings in a cold sweat to the back of my neck.

"Ginevra." He says coldly.

I swallow and clear my throat which is suddenly to dry for speech. I feel faint with hunger and fear, and an indescribable something that I only associate with him.

"I was hoping to find you here today."

There is a drumming in my ears.

"Did-" my voice breaks "did you?" I can only speak above a whisper. Anything else is impossible.

"Mmm, yes" he says condescendingly "Though I daresay that you did not find what you had come for today."

I am not sure, for a moment, what he means. I turn half way to face him.

"What-" but I stop, because suddenly I remember. The money.

God he's right. Bastard.

He's smirking at me right now, looking everything and nothing like Draco. I find though that I barely care. It doesn't matter to me now.

The air around me is pulsing surreally. I feel as though I'm floating in some kind of wonderful, or terrible, nightmare.

"Pity" he says. He is sneering again, looking at my clothes I'm sure.

"Makes you feel good does it?" A burst of adrenaline is coursing through me, making me unable to think before I speak. "To know that there will always be people with out trust funds that they haven't earned?"

"And there will always be people that do" he drawls.

I can feel the heat rising to my face. The sensation to flee or to hit him with his own caneis overwhelming, and through my wrath he is still speaking calmly. As though he is not the arch nemesis of my dead father. As though we do not hate everything about the other. It is maddening me. I can feel the blood rush to my face, and I am conscious of the fact that I look as though I'm blushing. "But enough of this Ginevra. Do you know" he continuesin asilken drawl "the Leaky Cauldron is around the corner? I'm sure you haven't eaten today…" 'Or for three days' hangs unspoken in the air.

My mother's temper flares fiercely with in me, and though it is legendary I cannot believe his gall. Something scathing forms on my lips but the lift has just come to a sudden halt and the doors fly open with a sudden burst of stark light. A crowd is waiting, and I seize perhaps the only opportunity for escape, and slip in between them. But I feel the undeniable pressure of Lucius' hand gripping my upper arm.

He steers me gently out of the Ministry and on to the sidewalk. The feel of his hand on my arm is burning me with some indescribable thrill of exhilaration and anxiety.

It's cold on the sidewalk. It's so cold that I can see my breath come and go in jets of fog, and I feel myself shiver beneath his hand. My ruined jacket is at home and I apperated to the Ministry.

I wrap one arm around my breasts, rubbing the arm closest to him in a vain attempt to keep warm. He notices. I'm sure he does, but he says nothing. He just walks with his impeccable posture and sneers at everything with in eye sight.

It gives me a sense of smug satisfaction to see him so clearly out of his element.

The muggles that are passing us look strangely at us, and I can't blame them. I must look ridiculous in my thin blouse, next to a man twice my age, who is wearing a floor length cloak and holding me by the arm.

We stop. It is so abruptly that I stumble a step or two ahead of him but he pulls me back. I look around, but the Leaky Cauldron is at least another three blocks in front of us.

'Shit head' I long to say.

He is looking at me with a piercing gaze. The same one he used last night. For a moment I am sure that he is about to curse me, or kiss me, or both. He does neither. I tremble. Maybe this is it. He will kill me here; in front of all of the muggles and go back to prison. Or maybe they'll let him off, _again. _They'll say it was a mercy killing. And the muggles that witnessed it? Well, who ever said that money can't buy you happiness?

I look at him expectantly, preparing my self for a quick and (admittedly) merciful death. But I am again disappointed. He is unreadable as he drapes his own cloak over my shoulders. And I am so overwhelmingly grateful, and shocked, that I stutter twice and let him tuck my arm beneath his.

* * *

I am going soft. Though this thought has often crossed my mind when I think of _her_, I am now hypersensitive to its implications. Perhaps it is a combination of love and old age, but I have an alarming amount of sentiment attached to this girl. This woman-child who has me so totally and utterly smitten and disgusted with her that it repulses me. 

I wasn't expecting to see her this afternoon. I lied to her; shocking, I know. But my instincts that usually tie me to Ginevra were still back in the ally way along with my cover this morning.

I had been walking by and heard my name spoken aloud. I am used to being spoken about behind my back. I do not have a good reputation, but the amount of galleons that I give to charitable organizations usually squash that instinct of my inferiors to drag my name through the mud. At least not in mixed company.

When I saw her in his office I nearly forgot that she had any family left. I had nearly forgotten that any but she existed.

I am loosing my edge. I did not know that love could be this degrading. I never loved Narcissa. Oh, don't misunderstand me; I certainly thought that I did. But at the time and place that we existed as husband and wife, I had not met _her_. My maddening red haired Siren.

It all seems beyond my control, as I sit in a private parlor with her and watch the delicate slope of her nose as she eats.

We are watching each other. For a moment I feel as though a large part of my life has been leading up to this moment, and then I realize the absurdity of my emotion.

I know somehow that I cannot restrain my self from her for long. To deny myself the fruits of my labor can not be healthy, or so I tell myself. She is irresistible. The fine curl of her hair, the arch of her brow…

Narcissa's memory fades in her presence. I fear that I am loosing my soul.

"How long have you been following me?" he voice is gravelly from smoking. She'll have to quit.

"Seven months" I say before taking a sip of my scotch.

I can tell what she is thinking. I do not need legimancy to know, I already have a valuable weapon at my disposal.

True, I have not told her of my intentions yet. And if it had not been for last night I may have never found the perfect moment to reveal myself to her. I may have haunted her for the rest of our natural born lives.

But that would have never done. No, I shall have to make my intentions clear to her. I just pray that she has the good sense not to ask.But not now. Now I will do something that I am not known for, something that, if you do not know me intimately, is entirely out of my character.

Kindness. It is not my forte, and I have rebuked many who practice it, but it appears to be paramount in wooing Ginny.

"What for?"

Damn!

I dare not show her my hand. Instead I lean over the table casually and whisper something in her ear. It is a line that I have used before, with other women. It is tacky, I know, and Ginnevra deserves better. But it has done its job.

She smiles. Her thin face is lit with a temporary glow, a shadow of the Ginny that lived before the war.

Her smile as ignited a warm flame in my soul. For all that she has tried to wipe it from her face when she realizes what has happened, I have already seen it.

Beautiful.


	5. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN: I am terribly sorry for the disturbance, but I had techinical difficulties with this chapter, so if you've already read this and are re-reading it, you are a peach!

The next day Padma Patil stops by the Burrow. We were never friends before the war, and I think the war is the only thing that we have in common.

She to, lost her family. Her parents were killed in front of her and Pavarti by their Aunt. Parvarti is still in St. Mungo's. She is permanently comatose.

We met again at the restaurant where I work-used to work. I was astonished to discover that someone that I used to know, in what seems a life time ago, still existed. I didn't ask her what she was doing there, and she didn't ask me either. We ate lunch together that day, and the next. And she told me about Parvati, and Neville who was killed in battle, and Lavender Brown who was cursed into insanity by Severus Snape.

She sits and sips coffee at the kitchen table. It is surreal to serve it to her when I remember Mum, and all the tea we drank in these very chairs. The times and memories we had are so very distant to me now.

Lately I have been waking up, panicked, when I go downstairs and remember that mum and the others are all dead. I tell her this and she nods, and tells me that she woke up with Parvati's old school tie wrapped around her hand and can't remember ever finding it to begin with.

I don't tell her about Lucius. Or the way it felt when he whispered into my ear, or what he said.

I flush over my coffee and hope that she does not notice.

She is talking about Parvati agaain, and I can tell it is hard for her. She doesn't even know me, but inexplicably, in this world of ever lasting change; we have become each other's only outlets.

She has not cried in front of me, but I feel that she might at any time. She looks like me. The bags beneath her eyes, the lank hair, the bloodshot redness that never seems to fade. She may not have battle scars, but somehow she is scarred in ways that are visible to me.

"So," she says softly, as though anything else might reduce her to tears. "How is work?"

I quit yesterday, after my impromptu lunch with Lucius, when my resolve was still strong. I knew then that any other time I would have returned. But somehow my meeting with Percy and Lucius made me feel strangely powerful and reckless.

"I'm not working there anymore." With tremendous effort, it seems, I complete the sentence.

Padma's eyes widen, she has never had to work. Not during, and not after the war. Her father was in some kind of investing firm, I don't remember the name, but he left Padma and Pavarti a small nest egg when he and his wife were killed.

"Oh" she says blankly.

I know that she is thinking, but is too polite to say. In a way I'm grateful that I don't have to defend my decision. And I don't have to explain why, because to explain would be to relive what happened, and admit that the future is again uncertain.

She takes another tentative sip and looks sadly at me for a moment.

"I went to see Pavarti today" she says tightly.

_Ah_, I was secretly wondering why she had come. Because it is the uniqueness of our friendship that we only seek one another's company when things become bad, and life is hard.

I sit straighter in my chair and put my own coffee down on the table. I don't say anything, I can't.

"She-" her voice breaks. "They think that she doesn't have much time left." Tears well in her eyes and begin to drip down her cheeks.

I nod. Just as she has nodded when I tell her about my night terrors and visiting Percy. There is nothing that I can say that would prolong the inevitable or make Parvati whole. And to be honest, the knowledge of Parvati's certain death makes only a small splash in the ocean of deaths that I have endured.

Padma sobs through a sip of her coffee with cream as she tells me the technical aspects of Parvati's illness. I listen to her, as she would to me, and I ask one-syllable questions. But I try not to too frequently; the visits we spend with one another are for our own sakes.

When she leaves, I bid her good bye and try to say something comforting or inspirational. But I am at loss for words, so I wave encouragingly from the back porch and watch her apperate in the middle of the yard.

I sit down and finish my coffee, enjoying the stillness of the late afternoon. The sky, as I peer out the window, is already turning dark and an autumn haze has lain itself over the darkening yard.

When I have drained my cup and put it on the drying rack I walk up to the fourth floor bathroom and lock the door. It is a habit that I have never broken. Even though there are no longer any brothers that might come tearing through the door with some horrible experiment, I can't bring my self to leave the door unlocked. When I was young I had to use the lock as a necessity of privacy (a rare luxury and the Burrow) but now to loose all of those necessary fragments of my character would somehow finalize a life that no longer includes them, a life that functions by itself, with no visible means of support.

While I wash my face I relish in the warm water, and concentrate on the chipped basin.

Tomorrow I need to start looking for a job. But not with the muggles. It's not that I find it obnoxious, working with muggles was much like working with wizards, it was the culture shock that got me. Working with muggles, whose culture is newer and different than my own, seems to be widening the gap between me and the world I live in.

I turn off all of the lights in the house and go to bed early, when the light that languidly rests over my room is hued with pale purple.

* * *

The manor is quiet at this hour. A faint periwinkle blue streaks through the floor to ceiling windows.

I have been sitting in this very spot for over an hour, a cognac in one hand, contemplating my next move. To be sure, I should have picked a mudblood for my next wife. Oh, I can tell what you are thinking. Like Ginevra, I don't need legimancy to know. It is not, as you may think, the idea of her being dragged up by muggles that bothers me anymore. When I was young and impressionable, the fire of youth had coursed through me, and I wanted the world.

The society of power, in which I was raised, demanded that muggles were lesser beings. Perhaps they are, but I have recently come to discover that they are a lot like wizards in many respects. So to have a mudblood wife would surely secure my repentance in the eyes of a recovering society. But I digress, the only suitable mudblood, the one whose fame and intelligence I could exploit to my own ends, is dead.

But a Weasley, the family in which I have feuded with for my entire adult life, is the next feasible option. And Ginny…. My eyes close as I take a gentle sip of the cognac. Oh, sweet, gentle, naive little Ginny. My delicate little rose. Somehow, in ways that are too simple and to complex to explain, I love her. Perhaps it is because she is my perfect radiant light at the end of a dark tunnel, or because she fits perfectly into the mold of the next Mrs. Malfoy. For she is everything I need. She fits my criteria to the letter, she is poor, her father was my enemy, and she is the biggest, large scale blood traitor, that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And surely all of these transgressions against my perceived character should surely make my repentance believable. And, if I play my hand just so, I can make the world see what a romance we have, or _shall_ have.

It is true; manipulation has always been the secret of my success.

I take another generous sip of alcohol, this time fixing my eyes to the pale autumn sun that is resting on the horizon. The image of Wiltshire reflects in my eyes before I smirk triumphantly at the thought of the next day, which lies ahead of me.


	6. chapter seven

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Authors Notes: thank you for reviewing! I am having so much fun writing this story!

Chapter five: Oh Lucius…

As I wake up this morning I sit on the edge of my bed and take several long minutes to collect my thoughts.

I must find a job today.

I have to repeat this in my mind as i amke my way out of my bedroom, to make the fact of the matter stick. There is no alternative. No matter how I mope and long to wallow in self pity, the truth of it is; I work, or I starve. Mum and Dad were always so good at working on a budget. But that, like many other of Mum's skills, died with her.

I shuffle, taking several long shuddering breaths as I go, to the attic. A cloud of yellow dust rises from the floor boards as I open the door. I sneeze twice before closing the door behind me.

"Lumos"

Though it is day light and there are two small windows in the attic, thick storm clouds have been darkening the sky all morning.

I turn my back to all of the boxes for a moment. For a second I am afraid that I won't be able to go through with what I know I must do. My pain is almost tangible. I brace myself on a box and inhale sharply, wishing that I had a cigarette.

Willing myself not to loose my senses, I stand. Although the attic is cluttered and disorganized, I know which ways to turn, and which areas hold some of Fred and Georges more dangerous pursuits. I spent a lot of long days in this attic as a child. Though the ghoul has long since left, a pipe creaks somewhere, and something in my heart breaks.

I kneel down at exactly the right place and blow the dust from a trunk, before opening the lid. I breathe deeply at the sight of Mum's old clothes. Worn and frayed, they bring tears to my eyes. Oh Mum…

I pull out an old dress. She told me once that she had worn it on the night that Bill was conceived. When she was my age.

It's even sort of pretty. I shake it out and hold my wand to it for a closer look. It's sage green and so old that it's almost back in style. A strand of my hair falls over my shoulder and on to the dress, illuminated in the half light. I would smile at the way my hair turns to a golden flame upon the old dress, but tears are streaming down my cheeks and I pull at another piece of fabric to distract myself.

I shake it out and sneeze through my waning cries.

It's a black cloak, simple and functional. It has to work.

I give a shrug of acceptance as I carry both garments back down the stairs and into my room.

I cannot, with certainty, tell you my reasons for keeping Mum's old things in the attic. Especially when I know that had I gotten them out long ago, I could have saved my self some very cold walks through London. I think it is a combination of things; the foremost of which being a tremulous amount of grief and guilt. Another has been my refusal to acknowledge and deal with what has happened in the past seven months. If I do not think about it, it has not happened.

But reality has caught up with me these past few days.

So now I take my wand and make the necessary alterations to Mum's-my dress. When I am done I am pleased with the results. Charm work always came naturally to me.

My hair, however, is my next obstacle. It's longer than it was when I was in school. But I do not want to be categorized as a school girl.

I have to take several long drags of my cigarette before my hand stills and I can hold the scissors steady. One snip. Then Two. Then three.

Hair is falling to the floor like crimson feathers. It swirls around my bare feet. I look in the mirror and let my wand finish the rest, evening out the ends. It is a layered, more polished look, and it goes with my dress.

I apply some light make-up before I walk out the door, and be sure to transfigure some old pumps.

* * *

She did not see me, but I saw her.

I felt my chest tighten and something like jealously flared within me as I saw another man, a mudblood, open a shop door for her.

I have never seen her wear that dress, which says something. Perhaps she borrowed it from the Patil girl. But somehow I cannot see that shade of green in her, Padma's, wardrobe.

I briefly wondered what she was doing. Why she was in Diagon alley when she had no money to shop with. But then, after speaking to and intimidating several shop owners, I discovered that she was looking for work.

I cannot say why this vexes me so, or why I feel slightly ill at the mere suggestion that she work. My sweet, sweet Ginny.

Narcissa never worked. Nor did she express any desire to do so. Breeding was always ingrained in her blood. From birth it is expected, and taught through example and lesson, that young pureblood women will marry young, pureblood gentlemen. And work is never discussed.

Work is for half bloods and worse. Work is for blood traitors like Andromeda Tonks and Molly Prewett. Through if memory serves me, because until now, I have never been able to force myself to care about the goings on in Author Weasely's family, I do not believe that Molly ever worked. Though in her case she should have, and maybe Ginevra would have had better things, things that were not second hand, and most importantly, worked properly.

My beautiful Ginny. It is growing dark and I wonder if I should make my presence known. Street lamps are magically lit, and in the light of them Ginny looks as though she is growing tired. She rubs her temples and fumbles through her hand bag for a cigarette. An endless display of all things muggle. I innocuously grind my jaw.

She has had bad luck today; I have watched her been shoved out of shops and verbally harassed. I almost came to her aid when a man physically pushed her from his store, but before I had taken one step she hexed him soundly. Good girl.

She has kept her hood up all afternoon. It has been unseasonably cool for early fall. But now, beneath the street light, she shrugs her hood off and shakes out her hair. I am slightly dazed when I discover that she has cut her hair almost to her collar bone. Enlightened in by the soft glow, she shakes her hair out and discards her cigarette on the gravel before disaperating.

* * *

The Burrow is always dark when I come home. I know this, but sometimes when I come home I am stunned with reality when I remember why.

I push the door open and light the kitchen hearth with a flick of my wand.

I make myself a cup of tea for dinner and sit in Mum's old chair. I close my eyes and imagine that I was her, that things were the way they had been, and that Lucius Malfoy is not something I yearn for.

I have tried not to think of him these past two days, but I have been as unsuccessful as I was in my pursuit of a job today. He floats in and out of my conscious relentlessly. I have tried not to think of what he might want from me, or when he will collect his life debt, but I feel powerless in my yearning, my need for him.

Lucius, Lucius, Lucius…

My mind wanders to things that make me half blush and grow warm at the thought of. Things like how his hand would feel on my breasts or how his mouth would feel between my legs.

I draw one leg up and let it rest on the table's edge as one hand slips up and under my dress. Oh, oh Lucius… Yesss…

I sigh his name aloud and then gasp in surprise when there is a knock at the door.

I sit ram rod straight in my seat. Who the fuck could be calling at nine o'clock at night? I grasp my wand in my hand and smooth out my dress as I fling the door open, breathing heavily.

The air leaves my lungs.

"Miss Weasley"

Lucius.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Athours notes:** thank you to all of you who have reviewed! You have no idea what it means to me when I get an E-mail saying that someone has reviewed my story! So be sure to tell me what you think!

**The Invitation**

I sigh his name aloud and then gasp in surprise when there is a knock at the door.

I sit ram rod straight in my seat. Who the fuck could be calling at nine o'clock at night? I grasp my wand in my hand and smooth out my dress as I fling the door open, breathing heavily.

The air leaves my lungs.

"Miss Weasley"

Lucius.

He had to have heard me. My breath catches in my throat.

"May I come in?"

There is something in his smirk that I don't like. But I move to allow him to pass anyway.

To his credit he sneers minimally.

"Can" my voice is hoarse and cracks "can I get you something?"

I don't let him answer before I retrieve another mug and fill it with tea. There is a familiar drumming in my ears.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

I can only imagine why he is here. My hands shake and the mugs rattle as I pour his tea. He is looking at me intently; I know this even though my back is turned to him.

I know he has seen me in every humiliating way, every bated breath and moan that escapes my lips as I touch myself, he has seen.

Shit shit shit shit.

I breathe through my nostrils so he does not hear me. Because ordinarily, I might have been able to mask the heaviness of my breathing and the nervousness that it implies, but smoking has given me a half whine when I exert myself, and _that _I cannot hide.

I have to hold the mug with both hands as I set it down on the table, but I still manage to spill some anyway. I sit across from him and fold my hands in my green clad lap.

"Why are you here?" I have to ask it, and so I blurt it out.

He takes a sip of his tea and grimaces; I guess Earl Grey isn't his favorite.

"I need to speak to you" he says calmly "you see, Ginevra, there are many things that we have to discuss"

I try to nod or do anything that might show that I have some sort of control in this conversation. But Lucius Malfoy has never been a man that easily gives with out a price. Not money and not saving your life. I do try to think of something else, before he begins to speak again, but there is something nagging in the back of my brain, telling me that he has come to collect.

I lift my tea cup to my mouth.

"I have a proposition" he makes a circular pattern on the table with his finger tips "A mutually beneficial one.

My hand stops in mid motion. I stare at him reproachfully.

"What is it?" there is a quaver in my voice

He leans forward and smirks. He knows that I cannot refuse whatever it is. Life debts are like an unbreakable vow; there is no way out of them.

"I want you to marry me"

_What?_ It takes several seconds for me to recover, and then I laugh out loud.

"What?"

"I said" he says, a little haughtily "I want you to marry me"

I laugh again, but he seems serious, and scowls at me.

"You're serious" I say, the laughter still in my voice. "You want-"

"To marry you, yes" he says in a clipped tone.

"I see" I say, wanting to test his boundries.

A little smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

"Get down on one knee" I cannot help but giggle as I say this, knowing that he will not.

He grinds his jaw and glares at me. But, to my great astonishment, he flares his nostrils, and slides from his chair to a kneeling position in front of me.

He must see the startled look on my face, for he reaches into his cloak pocket and withdraws a small black box.

I pull my hands away from his, and to my chest.

"Open it" he says, a little shortly.

When I do not comply, he reaches forward and pulls my left hand to his chest. We are so close I can smell him. I could kiss him if I wanted to.

He smiles predatorily as he opens the little box and places the ring on my finger. I feel my breathing quicken as I look at the ring; a rose shaped stone; red.

"A ruby" he informs me

"Not a diamond?" I ask

"Not for a queen" he says

For the first time I am looking in his eyes, really looking. I know he has given away something, I can see it in his face, I am just not sure what.

"There," he pauses long enough to reach forwards, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "There is somewhere I would like to take you tomorrow"

I tilt my head to one side, but I cannot speak, he has that effect on me.

"I'll pick you up at eight" his words imply that it is an invitation, but I can read the truth in his inflection; I have to go, I have no choice.

He rises from the floor. It must have been degrading for him to kneel in Arthur Weasley's home, which tells me something.

He crosses to the door and I follow him, handing him his cloak. Some people might take this as a sign of hospitality, but he knows me, he has watched me for months. He must know that this is a sign of nervousness, and a mad desire for him to be out of my home.

He leans in close to me as he takes his cloak, too close. I move to take a step backwards, but he grasps my waist and brings his lips to my cheek.

I am on fire.

"Wear something nice" he whispers in my ear, before disaperating.

It surprises me that a man like him, so cold and aloof, would kiss so warmly. No, I correct myself as I take his mug to the sink, it wasn't warm, it was like an inferno.

But marriage. Oh, I cannot breathe if I think about it. I put out the fire and climb the stairs instead, rubbing my neck as I go.

I feel exausted as I open the door to my room. And I cannot keep myself from running it through my mind again and again.

It makes sense to me, as I put my dress in the closet, and my pumps by the front door, A life for a life. There is little to no divorce in the wizarding community. And so I know, as I climb into bed, that he has me for life. A life of being Lucius Malfoy's wife. I wonder if he loved Narcissa, or if he hit her. I wonder if he'll want children, but I am so tired that my eyes grow sleepy and I nod off before I can begin to think of what that might mean.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Authors notes: Thank you to all of you who have reviewed! And a big fat thank you to my wonderful, if tardy, beta reader, Brenna!

****

**An Overactive Imagination**

I wake up in the middle of the night, panicked. I sit up and thrash in my sheets before I realize that I have had a horrible, but realistic nightmare.

Looking at the clock by my bed, I realize that I have only been asleep for three hours. Half of my room is bathed in the whitish glow of the moon. It casts shadows over the walls and onto the quilt of my bed.

I lean back against my head board and let my breathing return to normal. I am soaked with sweat. My head throbs lightly.

I cannot let myself forget.

My hand reaches out, unconsciously, and grasps my wand from the bed side table. Maybe, I think through the dull hammering of my head, marrying Lucius will shake me of these nightly fears. Maybe waking up alone is what frightens me the most. It is an impossible feeling to be alone in this house.

Damn, I need a cigarette. But I am trying to cut down.

I cannot pretend not to shiver when I recall the dream I just had. It is always worse when I dream about my family, so I cannot rightly complain when I am chased in dreams by that awful man who assaulted me last week. But when I dream of the night I was attacked, Lucius always casts the killing curse on him in the end.

Unbidden, I think of Lucius, and my pulse quickens again. This time, in exhilaration.

A feeling of recklessness washes over me and I pull my nightgown over my head and toss it to the floor, shaking. Though it is cold in my room, my skin is so flushed and overheated, that I cannot stand the contact of my cheap gown. My hair tumbles out of its tie, and whispers at my collar bone. It is easy to forget that I have cut it.

I distantly think of what Lucius might say about my hair, or if he even noticed that I cut it. My hands slide up my neck, and I run my nails through it and over my scalp.

Mmm…

I imagine it is Lucius doing this to me. As I have imagined his touch so many times before now, before I even knew who he was.

I look casually around my room. The last time I tried to release any pent up sexual frustrations, well, you remember.

I smile uneasily at the memory and fall back on my bed with a soft thump, my breasts bouncing in a way that I imagine would please him. I let my eyes fall closed. It is easy to pretend that Lucius is raking his nails down my sides, making me shudder when they travel over my breasts and scrape my nipples. I sigh.

My mind feels blank, devoid of thought beyond the next touch or twist.

I feel my own hands slide down my hips, and hook around the elastic band of my knickers. And I blush, imagining that it is some one else, Lucius, who is doing this to me. That it is Lucius, who is seeing every inch of my flesh as they slide down my thighs, and I kick them off the end of the bed.

Oh, oh….

Oh yes. This is what I have needed.

I imagine that he is saying something sexy with that smooth voice of his. I wonder what it would feel like, to have him whisper lowly to me, while he molests me.

My face is turning red; I am sure; as I touch myself and envision him the whole time.

Lucius…

I gasp and cry out when I come, grasping at the bedding and arching my body towards no one.

I pant when the waves of my orgasm are just the occasional spasm of a muscle. When it is just the sound of my breath and body in this room, in my world.

I cannot pretend to sleep, I am not tired. I lie here staring at the ceiling.

I think about marriage, and what it will mean to marry Lucius. I do not expect the dizzy, light-headedness that comes with the prospect of a wedding, and yes, sex. But it swims fleetingly through my mind for a second. After all, I feel something for Lucius. It is something hot and wanton, something I crave beyond the prospects of survival.

I try to imagine our children. They are not quite the vision of redheads with bottle green eyes. No, it can never be that way. I should not dwell on it. There is nothing I could have done to make Harry love me and not Draco. After all, you can't choose who you love, or the people you hurt because of it.

And now as I lie here and think on it, Lucius too, was burned by Draco's indiscretion with Harry. I do not know if he was hurt by it, honestly, but I do not know if he is human enough to feel emotions as I feel them. I assume that it is because of Harry and Draco's affair that led Lucius to our side at the end of the war. But assumptions are dangerous, I should know better than to make them. I should have known better than to get myself into this whole sham of a proposal. And I cannot hope to read Lucius, especially not after I thought I knew Harry so well.

I do not know if I can go through my life, sharing it with someone so cold and aloof like Lucius. I have always been the polar opposite. Maybe it's the red hair, others have sworn it.

I toss my bedding around and adjust my pillows twice.

I cannot sleep, but I also cannot muster the energy to get out of bed and make a cup of tea, the way I used to handle my bouts of restlessness when Mum was alive. So I lay here, my heart beat descending to normal, and my mind in commotion, as I await our _date_ tomorrow.

* * *

Sleep eludes me. 

My plans are in motion. And though things are moving in the right direction, I feel something like guilt. I cannot convey what this means for my character. For I have killed, blackmailed, and tortured, and it has not moved me.

I do not know if the girl is making me feel this appalling emotion, though I have my suspicions.

If only I had something other than my thoughts to distract me. If only Narcissa hadn't died. Oh, I meant it when I said that I had never been in love with her. And I also meant it when I said that I love Ginevra, as much as I can. But if Narcissa had been stronger I may have never been in this predicament. And I would have never felt these damnable feelings; things that have been foreign to me for most of my life. And I would never feel guilty for my own ulterior motives, for it is impossible for me to do anything for another (in this case Ginny) and not contrive some personal gain.

That may be my problem. But I have never known anything else; this is the man I am.

For the first and hopefully last time in my life, I feel jealous of men like Arthur Weasley, who's lives are simple and with out self deceit. Perhaps it is because I am slightly drunk, a luxury that I have not afforded myself in many years, but I feel that my past choices catching up with me.

I feel sorry for not loving my son more. And I am feeling the beginnings of the same for trying to kill Ginny, twice.

I sip my firewhiskey and stare into the fire.

I imagine that it is water under the bridge. After a war, I have noticed, many things fall that way. Differences become petty and pretty soon, enemies become your friends.

* * *

I sleep until noon the next day. 

I pull my hair away from my face and stare into the bathroom mirror.

_Wear something nice. _His words come back to me.

That bastard, he knows I don't have anything.

But that isn't true, is it?

My eyes travel upwards towards the attic. I feel for my wand on the bathroom sink.

I feel a sharp stab of irritation and pain. I don't want to relive my past. I avoid going to the attic at all costs, ordinarily. There are too many memories up there. I had too many good times up there as a child. But I know if I look, that I am bound to come up with something appropriate for my date tonight. Actually, I already have something in mind.

I want to procrastinate. I want things to be the way they were, the way they were supposed to be. I want to throw Lucius Malfoy's stupid ring in his arrogant, smug, murdering face.

Fuck, I am furious! And I want a cigarette.

Angrily I scrub my face with the water that comes out of the tap. Though I am not vindicated. The only water that comes out of the tap is ice cold.

God damn it!

I do not know what has driven my anger so much this morning. It might be Lucius, or our date tonight. Or it might be the fact that I have NO idea of how to break the news of our engagement to Padma and Percy.

I climb resolutely to the attic.

"Lumos" I mutter my favorite spell

It takes me a while to find what I am looking for. But when I do, it is with a heavy heart that I shake the dress robes from the box they were hidden in.

They are exactly as I remember them. And for a second, I see the girl who owned them, and wore them spectacularly at the Yule Ball.

I fold them neatly, wanting to preserve the memory with the robes, and carry them to my room.

They do _not_ look, on me, as they did on her.

I hate this. It feels like grave robbing.

I do a little twirl, watching the robes swish around my ankles. But I make a face in the mirror. I had no idea that I had lost so much weight.

The robes are to big all around. They hang loosely in the breast and waist, and make my complexion look sallow.

Maybe silver isn't my color. I take my wand from the bed, feeling sick as I do so.

Fleur looked so wonderful in theses robes. I remember it very well. I don't want to alter her robes, even though she gave them to me before she was killed.

But necessity calls for it.

I bring in the waist, and then the bust, and then the sleeves. I shorten it, and change the color twice, before deciding on deep purple.

I smoke a cigarette when I am done, blinking back tears.

I hang the robes in my closet and take a tepid bath, which is considered warm in the Burrow. I do not wonder what baths in Malfoy Manor will be like, nor do I consider that I will have to move out of the Burrow.

Instead, I sit in front of the hearth at six O'clock. My robes are on and my make up is done, and I have a book that belonged to Hermione in my lap.

It's a boring book. I don't even have the gumption to turn the fourth page. I throw another cigarette into the hearth and nod off. The book falls to the floor.

It is fifteen past eight when I am woken suddenly by a burst of green flame, and the sound of some one flooing into the living room.

I jolt upright, embarrassed that Lucius has probably just witnessed me sleeping in the oldest and dirtiest armchair, wearing my dress robes.

I smooth out my robes as the ash clears the air. But then I realize with a start, that it is not Lucius who has just arrived.

It's Percy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Authors Notes:** OMG! Thank you Brenna, my spectacular beta reader, and all of my faithful reviewers! I've really been terribly sick, so I hope you will all consider this chapter as my apology! Thank you again!

**Chapter nine:** Fire

Oh, bullocks

"Percy." I tuck a strand of hair behind one ear.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

Percy doesn't say anything for a moment. He seems temporarily stunned, perhaps to see me dressed this way.

Percy is still tense whenever he comes to the Burrow, which isn't often. He confessed to me once, after Dad's funeral, that he felt too guilty to show his face at our childhood home.

"I brought you your money," he says tersely, handing me a bag of sickles "I didn't get the chance the other day. And there's something I need to discuss with you Ginny…"

"Oh." I don't know what else to say. I am exceedingly embarrassed, and I feel suddenly awkward. The color rises to my cheeks; I pretend to tuck another hair behind my ear. "Perce, this isn't a good time." I _cannot_ listen to him pick me apart right now.

"What are you doing Ginny? Are you," he clears his throat and re-adjusts his glasses, "are you going out?"

"I-" If I could only think of a good lie. "I have a date."

His eyebrows shoot upwards.

"A date?"

"Er, yeah Percy. And he's going to be here any moment, so you should go."

"Of course, Ginny." he is always pushing a social life on me. "Did Padma set you up?"

"Yes," I exclaim cheerfully "She- it's a friend of her family."

My heart always races when I lie.

"I'll see you later, Percy." I reach up and give him a hug around his neck, it's tense, but I don't care, I just want him to leave before Lucius gets here.

"I'll stop by the Ministry next week,"" I promise."

"Have a good time Ginny, and remember," he warns, "you don't owe him anything, if he-"

Oh Percy, if you only knew.

"I'll be fine Percy," I look anxiously over my shoulder. "Just go."

He steps into the grate and disappears in a whirl of green flames.

I sit on the couch when he is gone and put my face into my hands. I hate to lie to Percy. Though he is an insufferable cockroach sometimes, he is the only other Weasley left.

I breathe deeply and stare at the old rug under my feet.

I can handle this

I can go on a date with Lucius Malfoy, my father's enemy.

I can marry him and bear his children.

I can… I can…

"Ginevra."

I jump and pull my wand out.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy." I feel foolish and blush to the roots of my hair. "It's you."

He looks wonderful, and I hate to admit it, but I'm half-dreading and half- looking forward to our date.

"Don't seem so disappointed." He reaches out and lowers my hand which is still holding my wand.

"You look," he pauses and looks affectedly down at me, a smirk spreading over his face "breathtaking."

I shudder and feel the gooseflesh erupt all over my body when he brushes his fingertips down my cheek.

"We're going to apparate." He says, offering me his arm.

God he smells so good, I feel slightly dizzy.

I take his arm and become tense when he brings his head towards mine and I feel his lips on my ear.

"Call me Lucius," he whispers.

I feel the compressing sensation of apparition, and we disappear.

When we reappear, I stumble slightly and he reaches an arm out to steady me. We are in a cloak room. Though I have never been anywhere nice enough to _have_ a cloak room, I remember Hermione telling me about a restaurant that she and Ron went to for their engagement dinner.

I can't think about Hermione tonight. I push her memory out of my mind, because I would be ashamed if she were alive today.

What am I _doing_?

Lucius escorts me to the parlor of a very chic and _expensive_ -looking restaurant. There are other witches and wizards dining here. Those whose fortunes were not diminished by the war.

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Weasley!"

A balding maître d' rushes forwards and does a little half-bow. I do not miss the small sneer that Lucius gives him, or the way that the maître d' shrinks from it and hastily reaches for some menus before showing us to a semi-private parlor.

While we are being led through the restaurant, _The Glass Wand_ it reads on the menu, I cannot help but notice that we are being openly stared at. I do not envy Harry. One witch, a tall brunette with yellow eyes, gives me an unfriendly smile as we pass her table. Another warlock with silver hair smiles and whispers something to his wife.

The entire outer wall of The Glass Wand is windows, floor to ceiling, and I watch myself, both of us, as we near our table.

Lucius leans in close to me, so close that I feel the whisper of his hair against my cheek, and he speaks lowly to me. About nothing really, and I admit to myself that I am only half-listening. He is saying something about the Wulfric's Eve Ball, telling me that if I don't mind- like I have a choice- he would like to announce our engagement then.

I nod and he strokes my forearm which is intertwined with his.

I have my suspicions about why he brought me here. I cannot help it; they seem to whisper to me that this is only half about me and the other half, the more important half, is about public relations.

Asshole.

In all actuality, I wish that I could care more. I wish that being used by someone could get more of a rise from me, the way it might have before the war. But I really don't expect much more from Lucius; I haven't forgotten the Department of Mysteries.

"Here we are," says the maître d.' "Will you be requiring anything else Mister Malfoy? A cocktail?"

"Yes, the usual for me and nettle wine for the lady."

I fell my eyes widen as I look at him. He seems genuinely unmoved by my shock at his observation. Nettle wine is my favorite. He does not show it, but somehow I know that he went to trouble to discover my secret love for it. Because I haven't had any in at least a year, since before Fleur and Bill were killed…

"Yes, Sir." And our waiter disappears, the door closing behind him.

"So," he says, taking a sip of the Scotch that has just appeared on the table, "Do you like the attention, Ginevra?"

I squint my eyes at him disbelievingly.

"You can't be serious," I say, my neck growing hot.

"It is a bit overwhelming at first" he says nonchalantly. "But you should get used to it; after the ball next weekend, everyone will want to know every sordid detail of our affair."

I push my wine away, too disgusted to drink it. Not disgusted with Lucius' lack of tact, I suppose after growing up with Ron I've become desensitized to it, but I am disgusted because he is probably right.

I had thought of it earlier today and late last night, but until now I have never truly understood its implications.

"New robes?" he drawls harmlessly

If only his question were harmless. The Prick. He _knows _that I altered these robes, he _must_ know…

"No, actually" I grind out.

"Mmm." he reaches across the table and my traitorous body keens at his touch as he fingers the sleeve gently.

"You know," he says, "you should wear your hair up."

"What?"

But before I can stop him, he reaches across the table and lifts my hair away from my shoulders. My cheeks turn pink and I inhale sharply when his fingernails.) scrape my scalp.

Oh god…….

"Ah, yes…" he sighs, "Beautiful."

"Lucius," says a terse voice.

I jump and pull away from him. The same witch with the yellow eyes, who looked so callously at me when we passed her table, is standing in the doorway.

She gazes furiously at me and Lucius.

"I hope I am not interrupting anything." Though it is clear to me that interrupting us was her greatest hope.

"Druella." He is calm as he acknowledges her, but I can see his jaw working furiously.

"And I thought you were in Austria, Lucius" she glares. "I don't believe I've met your _friend._"

I feel my spine straighten and my body goes rigid in my chair, very aware of her eyes roaming my dress. It almost feels as though she is touching me.

"Please allow me to introduce you to my _fiancée_, Ginevra Weasley."

Her face contorts like she has swallowed something unpleasant.

"How delightful," she sneers. "_Weasley_."

"Mmm, yes," Lucius drawls "but if you don't mind, Druella, we were in the middle of something. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

Her eyes narrow dangerously.

"Soon, Lucius," she promises, and in a flash of chartreuse, she whips around the door frame and out of sight.

I look at Lucius. I had no idea he had a lover, though I shouldn't be surprised. I partly feel that it is outside of my rights to say anything about her, or to ask him any questions, like _"Where did you meet? How many times have you fucked?"_

"Druella is an old friend," he says calmly, more calmly than he feels, I know. Because as far as he is concerned, he is going to have to do some fast back-peddling or admit defeat with our date tonight.

I wasn't going to mention her presence, but Lucius's obvious notion that I am too stupid to see what is happening here grates on my already frayed nerves.

"And by "friend," I say, my ears growing hot, "I'll assume that you mean 'bed buddy.'"

"Ginevra…" he begins, but I hold a hand up to stop him from saying more.

"Don't pretend with me, Lucius." His name slips off of my tongue unhindered. "You don't have to worry about sparing my feelings, after all."

He looks closely at me over the rim of his glass.

"If you'll let me finish," he snarls, "Druella is an old friend of my family's, and her father wanted us to get married at one point in time."

"But you didn't."

"Obviously."

"Ah," I don't know what else to say.

I want to tell him to get fucked, presumably by _her_, or to go straight to hell. But the thrill of letting him escort me back to the Burrow, after dinner, swims dangerously through me.

"I'm sending a dress maker by on Friday," he says when we reach the door.

I don't say anything. The moon is full tonight and it casts a ghostly glow over his pale skin.

"Ginevra" he whispers, and all thoughts of his scorned lover fall away.

"Lucius…"

He leans down and kisses me.

_Fire. _

I feel his teeth on my bottom lip, his hands gripping my waist, his body pressed against mine.

The door is scraping my back and I feel my legs weaken beneath me. I wrap one arm around his neck, and then the other. I have never felt passion the way I am feeling it now.

_Fire..._


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Authors Notes:**

Thank you to all of you who have reviewed! And all of you who haven't! This chapter is for all of you who will still read this story, even though it has been pitifully long since I have updated. As I promised this chapter will have more Lucius/Ginny action in it, and LEMONS! Hooray! Let me now what you think!

It is mid afternoon on Friday when the dress maker arrives. I'm still in my old bathrobe and my hair is drawn up in a sloppy bun on top of my head. I am heartily embarrassed when I open the door. I expect some middle aged, toffee-nosed, tailor from Twilfit and Tattings, possibly the same one that Narcissa saw. But Lucius, it seems, has a sense of tact and sent Detree Millings instead.

Detree has a clipboard tucked under one arm and carries a black leather bag at her side. I show her into the kitchen and make her a cup of tea. I apologize for my lack of dress and she waves a plump hand explaining that she has come to homes where women weren't wearing anything at all.

I laugh.

We make short conversation as she takes measurements of my waist, bust, and hips.

"Hmm" she says, her enchanted tape measurer zipping back into her hand. "That's interesting."

"What is?"

"Miss Weasley," she lets the end of her quill trail across her bottom lip. "Have you lost any weight, recently?"

My ears grow warm.

"No-" I start to say.

"It's okay," she whispers, leaning in conspiratorially. "Bulimia?" she sips her tea, "you can tell me, I've covered for other witch's before."

"No" I say, "that isn't it."

"Oh." Detree's round black eyes widen. "I'm sorry, Miss Weasley. You're just so thin that I assumed you…'

"It's all right Detree," I mumble, looking away. "I er, I actually _have_ lost a bit of weight lately. It's just-"

"No, no, no, no, no," she says, flapping her small hands around my face. "You don't need to explain."

Several awkward seconds pass before she begins to show me some fabric swatches.

"Mmm," she presses her mouth together when I hold a swatch of pale green to my arm. "Green is always a trying color." She looks disdainfully at the cloth. "In some lighting it can make you look sallow."

"Oh."

"Here," she solicits, "how do you feel about _these_ colors?"

I imagine that my eyebrows have gone up several inches, for when she lays several thin pieces of fabric on the table, she smiles and says, "Oh, don't worry. When they're layered you can barely see through them."

"Barely?" I wheeze, badly wishing for a cigarette.

The possibility of Lucius seeing me in any of these sheer materials is alarming and elating. My heart flutters when I think about the other night.

_Fire,_ whispers my brain.

"Detree" I say, my hand suspended on a gold swatch of fabric. "How long have you worked for Lucius?"

"For Mr. Malfoy?" She stops what she is doing and looks thoughtful. "_I_ haven't worked for him for very long, no," she says. "But my mother worked for Eloise Malfoy, who was _his_ mother."

"Oh." I was sort of hoping that I could pump Detree for information about Lucius. But even I have to admit that my heart isn't really in it. I suppose I'll be shown his true nature before long.

Detree does most of the talking while I nod and shake my head.

It's hard to explain the surrealism of my position. Or perhaps it is painfully simple, but I cannot find the words to describe it. Detree drapes bolts of fabric over me and I find myself adrift in a sea of thought, not particularly interested in the fabric that is being Detree is presenting to me. Lucius Malfoy's wife. Lucius Malfoy's wife. Lucius Malfoy's wife. I repeat it to myself as Detree pins the hem of my dress, but I cannot make it fit.

"The ball is one week from today," she enunciates, pins sticking out of her pursed mouth. "So I should have the gown to you by Wednesday at the latest."

"That's fine" I say, retrieving her tea cup from the kitchen table, and depositing it in the sink.

She waves her wand twice and the gold and pink chiffon that we deciding on rolls itself up, and fits miraculously into her small black bag.

She smiles brightly and tells me that she is making shoes that will match, and she asks if I already have a seamstress making my wedding gown.

"No," I murmur. "I don't. But I'll owl you."

We walk to the door.

"Good day Miss Weasley." And she disapparates in the middle of the back lawn.

I take my own mug in my hand and sip considerately. Some women, I know, become giddy and annoying before weddings. And even _I_ know, that had my wedding been based around marrying Harry, that I too would have fallen prey to this montage of white dresses and the ludicrous notion of fairy tale endings. But I can say with certainty, as my tea grows cold, that fairy tale endings are not in my immediate future.

Lucius is charming certainly, when he wants to be. And even, if I stretch myself, I may grow to tolerate him. We may even forge a friendship, who's to say? But I fear that love is not a feasible option.

But not all hope is lost. Though he is a racist, and guilty of unspeakable crimes, I cannot deny my unadvisable attraction towards him. I faintly recall the broadness of his shoulders, and smooth cadence in his voice.

I feel the vestiges of last evenings encounter flitter through my conscious, and my cheeks and chest grow warm.

I have been touched by other boys, but never by a man. I shouldn't, but I compare him to Harry, and the gentle (and admittedly un-skilled) groping that we shared down by the lake. When it was Harry that was touching me, it was always so sweet and pure, the fairy tale. But Lucius was deliberate and (for lack of a better word) passionate. I feel my heart palpate and my stomach clench when I think about his hands massaging my breasts, and the wonderful feeling of his mouth on my neck and ear. I touch those places lightly, wondering what sex will be like with him. I wonder if he will mind my lack of experience, because I don't believe that my two rolls in the hay with Seamus Finnegan qualify me as an expert.

The knock at the door startles me.

I press my palms to my cheeks and feel their warmth. I think it must be Detree, perhaps she forgot to mention something to me.

I try to make my face impassive, and maybe she won't be able to see right through me. Maybe I was only washing the dishes.

But I start when I open the door to Padma, her face tear stained and nose red.

"Padma," I say. "What is it?"

But I think I already know.

"Par- Parvati is dead," she chokes out.

"Oh," I try to sound sympathetic.

"I'm sorry Padma, come in."

I usher her inside and she sits, shaking, on the patched davenport.

"I knew something wasn't right," She sobs. "I could feel it, and-and –and I just knew." She shakes with the effort to wipe her nose. "So I went to the hospital and the healers told me!"

I don't say a word; I wouldn't know what to say. For a while it was easy, so many people had died that I had conditioned myself to have a slew of condolences ready at any given moment.

"They told me that she woke up!" she wails, resting her head in her hands. "She asked for our mother and then she-she –she-_died_!"

I rub her arm and try to console her. I say things that I admit won't mean much to her, things that aren't as sincere as they should be.

"What am I going to _do_ Ginny! Oh god!"

"I'm sorry Padma," it's a lame attempt at comfort when I get up and retrieve tea. And even though I have been through the same thing, over, and over, and over again, my heart feels frozen. I feel nothing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The morning of the ball dawns sunny and cool. I wake up when the sky is still dove grey and in the east I can see pale pink erupting on the horizon. Though, really, I haven't slept much. My nights are still plagued with disturbing dreams that wake me, and make me clutch my wand.

Last night I slept with all of my clothing on again, and when I was shaken from sleep by the image of Fluer's body, rigid with death, I grabbed for my wand.

I sit on the back porch of the Burrow. My hair is lank and my face is still tired from sleep. Its times like this, times when the Burrow is bathed in semi-darkness, I can still pretend that my family is upstairs sleeping. I can pretend that my life is the way it was, the way it is supposed to be.

I can sometimes close my eyes and lean my head back, and see what I want to. I see my mum in the kitchen making porridge and kippers, and dad in the garage, taking apart a toaster. I can see Ron, sleeping until noon, and I can hear the jarring explosions coming from the twin's room.

But the images are fleeting and silly, and pretty soon they evaporate like water. I pull a thin cigarette from my dressing robe and light it with my wand.

I have been smoking with increasing regularity.

I inhale sharply and exhale through my nostrils. Today is going to be a long day. I mentally think of all of the things that need to be done. And to be frank, they are all petty and unimportant in the scheme of things. But they still need to be done. And the terms of my engagement with Lucius, I'm sure, dictate so.

I take another long drag from my cigarette before putting it out in the coffee can by my chair.

I take a lukewarm shower and charm the hair from my legs and underarms. I shouldn't do this for him, my mind screams at me to stop and let him have me the way I am, hairy and depressed. But once again I am consumed by the thought of how he can make me feel, and it consumes me so completely that I break down and shape my eyebrows as well. The charm is tedious and time consuming; Romilda Vane taught me how to do it in my fifth year at Hogwarts.

When I am done I pace the hallway and find my way to my bedroom.

It seems like it has been hours since I woke up already, but I look at the clock and deflate when I see that it has only been two and a half hours. Twelve hours to go. I wring my hands anxiously and lay flat on my twin sized bed. I have to remind myself to be careful, it's only to easy to fall asleep in the middle of the day.

I stare at the ceiling, an all too familiar practice.

I still don't know _what _I'm going to tell Percy. Circe above, this is not good. I am furious with myself for getting myself into this mess. Why, oh _why_ did I stop in that alley for a cigarette? _Why_ couldn't I have reported him to the Ministry? And why, why,_ why _does it have to be him of all people!

I wish there was someone else to blame for my stupidity, other than myself I mean. My eyes flick over to my wardrobe, where my gown is hanging, with the plastic still on. I haven't even looked at it.

I don't even want to.

I look back up at the ceiling. I distantly wish that lighting would strike through the roof of The Burrow and that I would go up in flames. But I know that wishes don't come true. They are horrible, pitiless things. Things that make you believe, make you hope beyond hope that things will iron themselves out.

Well they don't.

My life is a testimony to how well wishes screw you over.

This is not my life.

I _wish_ this were not my life.

I _really_ wish that this was not my life?

Nothing.

I close my eyes and fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble hell, but when I open them again the room is dark. I look at the clock.

"Fuck!"

I sit up straight in bed. It is six o'clock in the evening; I slept for almost ten hours.

I bolt into the bathroom and pull my hair into a loose bun. I wash my face in freezing cold water that makes me shudder.

It takes me one hour, twenty seven minutes, and fourteen seconds to get ready. And even I have to admit that I look nice. The vestiges of the Ginny that went to Hogwarts is almost to close for comfort.

And the gown is _gorgeous_.

The bodice is pink, fitted, and makes my protruding ribcage less noticeable beneath the tight fabric. The skirt is a swirling, layered piece, with at least seven different shades of gold.

I have never been to Malfoy Manor, so I floo into Lucius' private parlor.

He is expecting me.

"My dearest Ginevra," He drawls.

The leer he gives me is not lost.

"You look ravishing."

"Thank you," I choke through a mouthful of floo powder.

"Did you have any trouble with the seamstress that I sent?"

"No," I say, "she was wonderful."

"That's good to hear."

He gives me a warm kiss on the cheek and I fight myself not to blush.

He offers me his arm and escorts me downstairs.

I itch to look around. But from what I can already tell, Malfoy Manor is already everything that I have been told it would be.

Finely woven carpets lay over the light stone. Rich marble tables lean against the walls.

There is definitely a woman's touch that lingers in the air. Something about the lightness to the colors that suggests sophistication that only a woman, a socialite, Narcissa, could envisage.

The tables in the hallway are strewn with family photographs. Though some look as though there are empty spaces where other pictures used to be. Maybe Narcissa's pictures.

Did Lucius remove them because I was coming? Or did he remove them after she killed herself?

We come to a double stairwell that over looks the foyer.

A sea of guests is swarming in and out of a large archway that I suspect must lead into a ball room.

"Lucius!" a voice booms suddenly.

I jump slightly at loudness and good-humored tone to the voice.

Lucius rubs the top of my hand, cups my cheek, and kisses me on the mouth. There are now fifty people looking up at us.

I want to blush, but a block of ice feels as though it has been bedded inside of me somewhere.

Lucius leads me down the stairs, to my doom it seems, and introduces me to a bald man called Grier.

His wife's name is Portentia, a tall woman wearing pale robes, and graying brown hair.

"What lovely robes," she comments. "Surely not Madam Malkin's?"

"No, they aren't."

"Goodness Ginevra," she laughs lightly. "I wish that Lucius would have told us about you sooner."

"Oh?" I can't help but asking.

"Mmm, yes." She replies. "I'll have to take you to our club and show you off for him."

We walk into the ball room, Lucius talking to Greir, Portentia trying to drag me into conversation.

"Everyone is asking about you," She says softly. For we have just entered the ball room and several conversations stop.

"Really?" I ask bemusedly.

"Undeniably," She smirks.

"Ginevra," she smiles and steers by the elbow. "This is Helena Avery."

"Hello. My, but aren't you young." Helena has a sharp, pointed chin, and yellow hair that is drawn up.

Portentia laughs carelessly.

"Helena, this is Ginevra Weasley, _Lucius' fiancée_." Portentia stage whispers that last bit.

"Ahh, of course." She replies. "Your so thin dear." She says matter of factly.

"Yes," says a third witch who has entered our circle. "You'll have to tell them your secret."

Helena stiffens when a woman with long blond hair and silver robes places her hand gently on her shoulder.

"Stella." Portentia says stiffly, "I didn't know you were coming."

A glass of champagne appears in my hand from nowhere, and I sip interestingly.

"Mmm," Stella has pale blond hair that hangs loosely at her waist, and crows feet around her hazel eyes, "But what kind of neighbor would I be?"

Helena and Portentia exchange dark looks.

"Ginevra, this is-"

"Stella Bedivere," Stella enunciates, through a sip of champagne. "Your nearest neighbor."

Her hand drops from Helena's shoulder and to her side.

"Indeed," Portentia says disdainfully. "It's only too bad that-"

"Darling," Lucius has just joined us. "Ah, I see you've met Helena Avery." He spies Stella and the corner of his mouth quirks. "And Miss Bedivere."

"Lucius." She acknowledges, raising her glass in a mock toast.

"Dearest," he coos to me. "Allow me to introduce you to a business associate of mine."

He leads me away and pulls me onto the dance floor.

"I thought I was being introduced to somebody." I say accusingly.

"No, I thought perhaps that I should rescue you though."

"Rescue me?" I look at him suddenly, "from what?"

"The two women with whom you were just speaking were Narcissa's best friends."

I peer over his shoulder at Portentia and Helena, who are deep in conversation, but stop at once when they see me looking at them.

"Oh." I can't say why I am surprised.

"Indeed," he smiles slyly, and pulls me closer, bidding me to put my arms around his neck.

I do.

He leads me into a waltz and twirls me twice; I suppose that we are supposed to be acting as though we are in love.

I should probably be gazing into his eyes or some shit like that, but I can't help but stare into the crowd.

I look away from him, and into the ocean of guests.

Immediately I wish that I _had _been staring into his eyes, for I see Druella, awash in sea green robes, speaking to a thin girl with short black hair.

The second girl is lanky and pale, from what I can tell, and she looks vaguely familiar, maybe someone I went to school with. But I can't tell, half of her body is facing away from me, and Lucius is leading me in the other direction.

They are both sipping some strange looking purple drink. Druella says something to the second girl who laughs and turns away.

I crane my neck now, sure that I know her from somewhere, when it strikes me.

The girl is Pansy Parkinson.

I thought she was dead. She looks terrible. Not that what she looks like is the most important thing, but she really looks awful. Like me, she is thin and slightly gaunt looking. Her eyes are hung with dark circles and her smile is false and lifeless.

Lucius seems to have noticed that I am else where. He nudges me and I snap out of my reverie, annoyed.

"Are you going to tell your brother about our… engagement?"

I look up at him suddenly.

"Why?"

"Why?" His pale eye brows raise and he laughs lightly. "Do you think he'll miss your picture in the gossip column of The Daily Prophet tomorrow morning? Or the fact that the entire Ministry will be abuzz about the ball on Monday morning?"

I chew my lip.

"No, I hadn't thought about that."

"Hmm," Lucius hums.

"I suppose I'll have to go and see him," I say nervously.

"Yes," he intones, stroking my neck with the tips of his fingers.

I shudder faintly, but I don't stop him. The thrill of physical contact with him is pressing in on me, squeezing the will that I have to say no to all of this.

The second song ends and I make my way towards the edge of the crowd of guests, I tell Lucius that I need to powder my nose. Someone says a dry "hello" to me, but I keep pressing between the mass of people until I make my way into the bathroom, where I flick on the lights and lean against the door.

My room tilts, and I lean my head against a mirror and let the champagne have its effect on me.

My breathing is labored and I close my eyes tightly, willing away the impending anxiety attack.

The thought of Percy finding out about all of this is suddenly overwhelming. I had thought about it before, but I never dreamed that he could find out from another source. Which in hindsight, was absurdly stupid of me, considering that he works for the Ministry, which is not exactly known for its' discretion.

I brace myself over the sink and dry heave.

There is a tap at the door which turns out to be a house elf, wearing a toga that might have been a table cloth at one time.

"Miss Weasley!" the house elf squeaks. "Master is wanting Tinker to see if you are well and if you require anything!"

"I'm fine."

"Tinker is happy to hear so Miss, Master is wanting Tinker also to give you this."

The elf snaps her fingers and a drink that looks like spiced rum or cider appears on the bathroom counter.

"Good evening Miss."

Tinker disappears with a loud crack.

I meet Lucius in the foyer. The ball is winding down and several wizards under the influence of scotch and firewhiskey congratulate Lucius, while their wives peck me on each cheek.

I am on my second spiced rum when Lucius gives me an impromptu tour of his mansion. I feel slightly dizzy and when I sway slightly Lucius sits down with me on a day bed in one of the guest suits.

I haven't been drunk in a very long time, since Hogwarts, and I let Lucius lay me down with one of my legs dangling over the edge of the day bed.

I'm almost surprised at how loose, how pliable I feel. I had nearly forgotten that alcohol has this sort of effect on me.

Lucius is speaking lowly to me, caressing my neck and arms. I suppose I should feel taken advantage of. Liquored up and unable to make grown up decisions.

But in spite of all of it, the cunning that I know he must have used to follow me, and the ingenuity that it took for him to arrange this, I don't give a fuck.

I let him lower the straps of my dress and unbutton the bodice. My breasts fall free and and Lucius gives them an appreciative look.

I sigh against his neck when he takes one in his mouth and rolls one nipple between his teeth.

He shudders and murmurs his approval in my ear.

He begins to unbutton the front of his own robes, but in my half-drunken state help him by tearing the front and he groans softly when I rake my nails down his pale chest.

It all seems beyond my control, as he pushes the flowing fabric of my gown up my thighs. Or when he rips my underwear off and tosses them across the room.

I told you I have already done this twice. When Seamus and I didn't want to die virgins, thanks to me he didn't.

But when it is Lucius sliding inside of me I moan and pant for breath. I claw at his back and leave red nail marks on his white skin.

I don't even think that I must look like a whore or notice that the world has gone fuzzy.

This is so much better than masturbating.

He slides in and out, in and out. Oh, and he does it with so much finesse. I almost feel bad that I've only done it twice before.

Finally I come, so hard that my eyes roll back in my head and I cry out.

"OH GOD!"

Lucius finishes just after me with a cry that sends the owl that just swooped in through an open window off in flight.

The world swims and I fall asleep with Lucius laying his head on my chest. And for the first time since mum died, I don't dream.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Authors Notes:**

Thank you so much for reviewing! Thank you to my wonderful beta-reader who has returned from the dead and beta'd my story! I would also like to give a special thanks to Odyssia, for allowing me to borrow one of her specialties concerning Lucius Malfoy and the opposite sex. You really have to admit that he brings it upon himself. And now…a wrench in the works.

The next morning I watch her wake up. She is disoriented at first, hung over and bewildered until she realizes where she is.

Her gown is wrinkled and much of her is still exposed.

I am not much better. I do not want her to see me like this, so I do not move.

She jolts to full awareness and then she gives me a leery glance and decides that I am still asleep.

She rests her head in her hands for a moment and takes a shaky breath.

_Not having second thoughts are you, my peach?_

She looks as though she could be sobbing. I cannot tell; her (back is to me. But surely this cannot be. Not my brave little queen, the one who is rapidly morphing from fire to ice before my very eyes.

I watch her delicately remove herself from the sofa as if she is afraid to wake me and pick up my time piece from the table. She starts and drops it with a clatter. It must be very late.

Quickly, and I almost sigh in disappointment, she pulls her gown back up over her breasts.

She scurries as quietly as she can, picking up a nylon here, another that was flung across the room. I watch her pick up her torn underwear that was strewn over a lamp shade. She shudders and drops them in the waste basket.

She uses her wand to repair her dress, and she disapparates with a soft pop.

I sit up uncomfortably. I can't imagine where she might be off to. I rise and pull a throw over myself.

Daybeds are uncomfortable things to sleep on.

The throw pillow next to me smells intoxicatingly like her. I inhale deeply and pull a fiery strand of hair from it.

I stand fully and contemplate taking a shower. My head is throbbing and my neck is sore from sleeping on that blasted daybed.

I call a house elf and send him to find me a headache potion while I am showering.

Several red threads of hair fall from my body and pool around the shower drain.

Visions of last night cloud my thoughts.

It was so much better, so much more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. I have, contrary to popular belief, only been entertaining a few women since Narcissa died.

I needed that night. And Ginevra acted as though she did as well.

I am sad to have seen her go so suddenly and quietly this morning. I had Tinker stock every shower in the house with toiletries that I thought might please her. But there will be other times, times when we will (hopefully) be on better terms after coupling.

Perhaps last night was ahead of schedule. After all, I do _want_ her to like me. I do care.

I turn my back to the stream of water and hiss. I grope blindly at my own back for a moment, unable to recall why I have pale pink scratches, but I remember with a smirk.

I also remember my ruined tuxedo shirt and smile smugly to myself. Whoever said a man's sexual stamina goes to the dogs after thirty has nothing on me. Sex was never this good at eighteen.

I can only hope to have the stamina however. It is something that has been in the back of my mind. Young people are all alike, curious and sexually eager. Women, in particular, associate sex with love. And I need Ginevra's love. I need our romance to be believable

I towel off after my shower and decide not to heal the scratches.

"Master! Master!"

Tinker the house elf is jumping up and down excitedly, holding a rolled up piece of parchment.

"Tinker is finding this in the east guest suite!"

I take it and bark at the elf to bring me a headache potion.

The letter is from Druella. _Fuck._ I never should have carried on with her after Narcissa died. Brief though our affair was, it has left a bad taste in my mouth. Druella was nothing a mistress should be and nothing that I wanted for a wife. And there was Ginevra.

Oh, I was telling the truth. Perhaps only part of it, but Druella and I _were_ intended for one another in our youth. But I was young and Druella could not compare to Narcissa who, until her death, was more beautiful and more refined than Druella could ever hope to be.

I re-read the letter. She is as vague and monotonous as ever. I can tell though that she does not like this turn of events. I know that it must be hard for her to see me marry a woman half her age.

In spite of myself I smirk.

I saw her at the ball last night. She was speaking to that girl, Draco's friend. I can only hope that she doesn't make things difficult.

I wad up the letter and toss it into the waste basket. Then with a sneer of contempt, I set the contents on fire.

I slide a silk robe over my shoulders and settle down in front of my study window to read last week's paper, for I have uncharacteristically not been keeping to date with the news. A mistake, I admit.

A mug of coffee appears out of thin air next to my right elbow.

I read the paper, glad to have a hangover remedy and no obligations this morning. I fear that I could not handle polite society this morning. Which, lately, has been increasingly more and more important. I cannot afford to lack society's trust. Not that I provided information that was detrimental to the Dark Lord. Not that I risked my own life and the lives of my family, which incidentally was a price that I had to pay.

I cannot afford Rufus Scrimgeour to doubt my sincerity either. I know though, that he is close to Ginevra's brother, Percy I,think. Another reason that I need her, and her connections to the bleeding-hearted mudbloods and blood traitors. I am no fool. I know that when Scrimgeour gets wind of our impending marriage, if he hasn't already, he will pry information from that sniveling little sycophant, Percy Weasley.

I half-heartedly peruse the paper.

My quidditch team lost.

Walden Macnair was captured by Aurors in South America.

I file through the paper uninterestedly. But when I come to the obituaries I nearly spit out a mouthful of coffee.

The Patil girl died. The services are being held today.

That was where Ginny was rushing off to!

I stand up so suddenly that I knock my coffee cup to the floor where it lands with a soft thump on the ornamental rug.

"Tinker!"

"Yes, Master!"

"Bring me my black dress robes!" I snarl.

"Yes, Master! Tinker is getting them right away!" Tinker disappears with a sharp crack and re-appears seconds later.

"Give me those!" I snatch the dress robes away from him and kick him viciously. I do not care that it is not his fault. I do not care that he will be nursing a large bruise later. All I can think about is _her_, and her idiocy for not telling me. It is important that we are seen _together_. Never mind how it would look if she is seen at the Patil girl's funeral without.) me.

Tinker scampers as I stalk out of my study and into the front hall where I grab my cloak and disapparate.

X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X

The distinct feeling of falling wakes me up. I feel fuzzy in a way that is unfamiliar to me, and so I stretch to shake the feeling off. But my hand hits something warm and soft.

Disoriented, I open my eyes and blink rapidly.

_Crap._

How could I have forgotten? Oh crap, how did this happen?

I tell myself not to be stupid, I _know_ how this happened. _Ginny, you dolt!_ No wonder he wanted you to have that drink! I give Lucius, who appears to be sleeping, a sideways glance.

_Why did you do this, Ginny!_

I sit up gently and rest my head in my hands and try not to feel so drained or hung over. Last night was too much for me. I have never had sex like that. I shake with what could be sobs if there wasn't something, ice, preventing me.

I cannot pretend that our love-making session wasn't amazing, or that it wasn't something that I have thought about-- even fantasized about. But oh god!

I wish that I wasn't so concerned about what he thinks of me, I wish it didn't bother me if he thinks I'm easy. After all, he's the one who roped me into this travesty - this sham of an engagement.

But it does bother me. I can't even say why.

I slip as quietly as I can off of the daybed, lest I wake him, which I seriously _cannot_ handle right now.

I have no idea what time it is now, but I pick up his pocket watch from the table and drop it with a loud clunk.

It's almost ten thirty and Parvati's funeral is this morning at eleven!

I pick up my clothing as quickly and quietly as possible.

First, however I pull up the straps of my dress and cover my breasts.

I find my nylons in opposite corners of the room and when I find my panties I drop them in the rubbish bin with a small shake.

I fix the tear in my dress with a silent flick of my wand and I dissaparate to the Burrow.

I am late to Parvati's funeral, but thankfully Padma doesn't notice. She is sitting in the front row sobbing softly, her black hair cascading down her back.

She is not alone, though. My heart drops in my chest, and I can feel my own eyes widen in disbelief. Percy is sitting next to her, his hands wrapped around her.

This cannot be real. _What the fuck is going on?_

Someone gently touches my arm. I look up, startled to see Lucius.

I give him a "What-Are-You-Doing-Here"look, which he ignores and steers me to a seat near the front.

People are staring at us. One older witch, a friend of Padma's parents I think, nudges her neighbor, who whispers something behind her hand.

I didn't want to be noticed, but Lucius clearly has other ideas. He offers me his arm, and when I don't' take it he uses his free hand to place it in the crook of his arm. He pats my hand. I don't know what he's playing at.

Lucius leans into my ear, his lips are on my earlobe and I can feel the goose flesh rise on my neck.

"You should have told me!" he hisses.

I don't know what he means and I look sharply at him. He kisses me chastely on the mouth, a ploy to divert the speculation of the people who are sitting around us.

"What are you talking about?" I whisper.

He grips my elbow and I wince painfully.

"We will speak about this later."

He rubs my knee and brings my hand to his mouth to kiss. A maneuver to convince other of his intentions, I'm sure.

I look at him and I feel as though I am truly seeing him for the first time. Inwardly I cringe. I knew that this earnestness was a charade. I should have known.

Something boils inside of me. I can't take it! I think I'm going to be sick right here.

Suddenly the thudding of my heart is overwhelming; I'm surprised that the people sitting around us can't hear it.

I stand up suddenly and yank my hand out of his. I want to spit on him, I should.

I shove my way through three sobbing witches and run down the aisle. People are looking at me but I don't see them. They are whispering but I can't hear. My own heartbeat is the only sound.

I rush out of the temple and into the loo down the hall. The door swings open with a loud screech and thuds shut behind me.

The memory of last night comes full force, and this time I do vomit into the sink.

That bastard!

Of course the sex was wonderful! Of course it was passionate! He had to make it look sincere! He had to make me believe he cared!

I ward the door; I know that he will come after me. After a scene like that he must be furious.

Sure enough, a few moments pass and I can hear him pounding at the door.

"Ginevra!" he growls, "open the door!"

"Go to hell!" I shout.

"Open this door, or I will blast it off its hinges!"

"Fuck off!"

I hear him utter a curse and then I hear it backfire.

I laugh loudly and callously.

"Ginevra," his voice is more controlled but it is straining with the force of not yelling. "I must speak with you. Open the door and I- "

I push the door open as hard as I can and feel it connect with his face.

He appears, furious and menacing looking around the door frame. Blood is running out of his nose and onto the collar of his robes. His nose is broken.

He steps over the threshold of the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

"You will pay for that!" he promises.

"You bastard!" I hiss. "I knew it!"

"What are you talking about!" he roars.

"I'm talking about you! I'm talking about your games and your sorry attempt at public relations! I'm talking about last night!" I finish in a low growl.

"Ah, Ginevra," he sneers. "I didn't know that you'd relate physical love with emotional love. How very touching. It is a shame though that it didn't work on dear Mister Potter."

My ears grow hotter, if that is possible.

"Last night was a mistake! All of this was! This is it," I yell. "I won't marry you!"

Lucius opens his mouth angrily, color in his cheeks, but before he can say a word, I disapparate with a sharp _crack_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: :** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Authors Notes: **Thank you for reviewing! This chapter is unfortunately woefully short, but I hope you forgive me after you read it!

My hands are shaking when I arrive home. And when I slam my bedroom door shut, a picture in the hallway falls and the glass shatters with a sickening crash.

I sit on the edge of my bed with a cigarette and inhale quickly.

I knew that all Lucius Malfoy could possibly do was complicate my life. I knew that this day enlightenment was inevitable. I knew.

I push errant strands of hair out of my face with a shaking hand. I think of Harry in all of this. I can't help it, for Lucius' words come back to me.

"_It's a shame though that it didn't work on dear Mister Potter…"_

That bastard! He doesn't know anything about it!

I want to cry. I want to break his nose again. But all I feel is a numbness that will soon overcome my righteous anger, just like it has overcome my very existence.

I put a knee length skirt on with a Weasley sweater, and find myself in the kitchen, smoking and drinking tea, wishing that I had stayed long enough to eat. There is no food in The Burrow.

My stomach growls.

Suddenly, inexplicably, I long for Fred and George to be here. I long for them to lighten the situation and make me laugh.

I miss them so much.

It shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't be sitting in my kitchen, hungry, my family dead, and alone because Lucius Malfoy, my _fiancée_, hurt my feelings.

This is all wrong and I know it. I can't believe that unimaginable asshole! I can't believe that I fell for it! I can't believe that I let myself be fooled with sex!

_Ginny, you idiot!_

I can't believe that I stormed out of the temple like that. I wonder if Percy and Padma saw me. I wonder if they saw me with Lucius.

I can't even think of what Percy will say. I can't even think of a good lie to tell him. How do I explain what I was doing there with Lucius?

He's ruined everything!

I throw my tea cup angrily across the room where it crashes against the wall, followed by a faint _pop_.

"My word Ginevra," Lucius has just apperated into my kitchen. He looks down at the smashed mug in disdain. "I was hoping that you had calmed down."

"What are you doing here!" I demand. "Get out!"

"That isn't really any way to speak to your fiancée, my dear," he warns. "Are you going to do that at the wedding reception?"

I snort and he gives me a stern look.

"There won't be a wedding!" I shout angrily. "Now get out!" I stand and point at the back door.

"Sit down!" he hisses. "And listen very well to what I'm going to say to you! There _will_ be a wedding. And to be quite frank Ginevra, I don't see how you have anyway out of it."

"What are you-"

"I hope that I don't need to remind you that you owe me a life debt…" he trails off nastily.

"You would blackmail a woman into marriage." It is not a question.

"Even I have my morals Ginevra," he says haughtily. "You should really aquaint yourself better with the definitions of blackmail if your going to marry me."

"Which I won't."

"You _will,_" he snarls. "You _agreed_. Surely you know that life debts need to be repaid."

I stare blankly at him. I know that he's right; I have no choice but to marry him.

"So, my dear," he grins horribly at me. "Are we going to do this the hard way or do you concede?"

"Fine," I grit out. "I'll marry you."

"That's a good girl," he purrs, moving out of his chair and around the side of the table.

I instinctively move away, but he catches my wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't be in such a rush," he whispers.

"Stop," I say, standing and backing away from him.

He grabs my other wrist. There is a predatory gleam in his eyes as he tugs me to him.

My breasts are planted firmly against his chest.

He trails a finger lovingly across cheek.

"Stop," I whisper, looking away.

"You'll love it," he promises, sliding his hand up my thigh.

"Stop."

"Oh no," he whispers lowly. "You owe me after that scene you created earlier."

I inch away from him and feel my back pressing against the cool wall behind me. I know that I shouldn't want this. I know that this is wrong and that I should hex him. But my wand is laying uselessly by my bedside table, and my arms raise of their own accord as he pulls my sweater over my head.

He leers down at me, clad in only my flimsy bra and thin skirt.

"Somebody _has_ been bad…" he hisses cheekily in my ear.

I am panting and my eyes and limbs feel heavy. He bites the sensitive skin of my neck.

"Oh, stop," I moan.

But I can't stop him. I can't fight. My will has left me, I don't even know when.

I tilt my head back, my hair swishing backwards. I can feel him reaching for its' ends and then the inevitable tug that draws a long hiss from me.

He smirks and lifts me bodily onto the table, where he parts my legs with his knees.

"Don't," I pant, pushing his hands away feebly. For he is lifting up my skirt. But even I know that I don't really mean it, that I would die if he ever stopped.

"No knickers?" he smiles sinfully. "Good Lord Ginevera, you are full of surprises today."

I blush and look away. No, I am not wearing any knickers.

He fumbles for his robes and I gasp softly when I can feel his erection, hot against my thigh.

This is not like me. I don't know what has come over me all of a sudden. I can't stop. I moan softly when I can feel the tips of his finger tips against my sensitive flesh.

"Ahh, yes," he growls successfully when my knees open further of their own volition.

"Ginny?" A familiar voice rings through the kitchen from the living room.

We both stop, my heart is beating very fast. Lucius silently hands me my Weasley sweater and I put it on.

He adjusts his robes, looking murderous.

"Ginny," Percy has just entered the kitchen."Are you all right? I was w-"

He has just noticed Lucius, and I watch him straighten self consciously.

"Mr. Malfoy, I didn't think..." he clears his throat. "Ginny?" he looks almost unbelievingly at me.

"Percy," I start. "It isn't what it looks like…"

"What do you mean Ginny?"

"I-"

"Are the papers true? I didn't believe it. I thought maybe it was only someone who looked like you…" he trails off and looks accusingly at Lucius. As if he is silently demanding an explanation.

"I have not yet read the gossip column of Witch's Weekly, Mr. Weasley," Lucius says haughtily. "But do believe that it is our intention to marry."

I cringe as the inevitable words leave Lucius' mouth. Percy looks as though he has just been cunfunded.

"Ginny," he says, as though dazed. "I need to get back to Padma…"

"Oh Perce-"

"I'll come 'round tomorrow and we'll talk."

He strides out of the kitchen and I can hear the _pop_ of disaparation in the next room.

"Oh god," I wail, grasping my hair desperately and pulling it at the roots.

Lucius rests a hand on the small of my back and I violently twist away from him.

"This is your fault!" I am shouting again, and if I could find it within myself to cry I would be doing that too.

"I fail to see how this is my fault," Lucius says indignantly. "If you had contacted your brother, as I suggested, and told him of our intentions then you would not be in this quandary at all."

"He's all I have left, he's all-I-have-left…" I am choking on un-shed tears, and as I say the words I know that they are true.

My breathing becomes erratic, my heart rate is unbelievably high. I want Lucius to leave.

"Ginevra," I can feel his hands guiding me into a chair and I try to shake him off.

"Don't," I choke.

"You're making yourself ill," his voice is gentle but firm.

"Leave-me-alone…"

"I will do no such thing," he promises. "I know that you are upset Ginevra, but…"

"You don't know," my voice is breathy and I feel faint.

"I _do_ know!" he snaps. "You are not the only one who has ever lost anyone, now get a hold of your self!"

I look up. It feels as though he has slapped me. But he is right, I never think of anyone else's loss, I can only feel my own pain. It doesn't occur to me that other people have lost their families, that they have lost their lives. I look at him closely and in a second I know that he too has felt the pain of loss.

I feel, for the first time in many months, tears streaming down my face, blurring my vision. There is nothing else for me to do, I must move on, but the prospect is an overwhelming, impossible feat.

My head swims and suddenly I feel so weak, and I feel his arms wrap around me. I do not think, I lay my head on his chest.

We stay this way for several long moments, and I'm sure how or why, but suddenly I know. Though he is arrogant and self-assured, and many more less savory things, Percy is not the only thing I have left anymore. I have Lucius.


	13. Chapter 13

**Authors Notes**: I know that I deserve to be scolded! But I honestly never meant to abandon this fic. So with out further ado; here is the much anticipated next installment! Thank you for reading!

**Summery**: But there he is; impossibly at my side. I can hear the liquid finesse of his voice and feel his breath in my ear as he leans in to ask what he can do. I want to tell him nothing, that he has given me more than I could ever have expected from him. But I can't.

I am dimly aware of being brought back to the Manner. Lucius is carrying me; my crying has made me impossibly weak. He whispers strict instructions to the house elves as he lays me on a bed, his bed I think, and pulls a fur over me. I know that I cannot retain much heat as thin as I am. He must know too.

A fire roars to life somewhere to my left and a cup of something is brought to my lips, dreamless sleep? I can't bring myself to care. It could be poison for all I know. Lucius is leaning over me; I can smell him as he says something soft in my ear.

"_My love_," it sounds like.

But I can't be sure. The room is swimming all around me. The dim glow of the fire, Lucius's silhouette as he speaks to the elves, all whirl around me. My eyes are unbearably heavy now.

"Lucius. . ." I try to speak but it sounds incoherent even to me.

But there he is; impossibly at my side. I can hear the liquid finesse of his voice and feel his breath in my ear as he leans in to ask what he can do. I want to tell him nothing, that he has given me more than I could ever have expected from him. But I can't. My eyes are closing of their own accord and the bedroom falls away.

..

The light wakes me. I do not know what time it is, but I disentangle my self from the heavy fur and look blurrily around. Early afternoon? The light that baths the bedroom is stark and the lawns of Malfoy Manner are impeccable green as they stare at me, a little forlorn, from the enormous window.

His room, for I cannot help but snoop, is outrageously lavish and decisively masculine. There are richly carved mahogany wardrobes and a strong dresser with an alabaster marble top. Like many of the other rooms I have seen in the Manner, the walls are paneled and the vaulted ceiling's top most point is lost in shadow. The bed stand beside me matches the other furniture and has a large crystal goblet full of water, intended for me I'm sure.

I stretch my arms above my head and wince. My muscles are week and arms painfully thin. I shiver as well. I am still wearing my threadbare Weasley sweater and skirt and when I step out of bed a shiver runs through me.

"Miss Weasley!"

A high pitched voice makes me jump and spin around to where an elf is standing, wringing her small hands and looking painfully eager.

"Tinker has been instructed to help young Miss with what ever she wishes! Master has gone out on urgent business!"

She looks at me with eyes the size of saucers.

"A bath," I have to whisper. I must have lost my voice from crying the day before.

"Of course Miss! Please follow Tinker this way!"

I follow her into Lucius's bathroom which does not seem to have a bath tub, but is neither lacking in fine decor. I look puzzled at her for a fraction of a moment, but I do not have to wait for her to say a thing. She looks intently at a blank wall and it parts magically. Tinker motions for me to follow her through the magically suspended archway.

I gasp when I reach the other side. There is an oval shaped bathtub larger than my bedroom at the burrow. Everything is white and marble and there and fresh roses on the vanity. The large window that frames the enormous tub looks out onto more of the gardens and I think I even see a maze.

The tub is already being filled with steaming water and a pink soapy liquid that smells suspiciously like roses. Tinker helps me undress and disappears with a _pop_ and the promise to attend me if needed.

It won't be. Lucius may be overly comfortable with the idea of servants but the idea makes me uneasy. Mum had always wanted a house elf of her own when she was alive, but I had wondered if she would know what to do with one.

I step into the bath and feel the water engulf me with warmth. I cannot remember the last time that I had a hot bath. I have had my ice cold jaunts at the Burrow, but they were always perfunctory and fast. This was like liquid heaven. The scent of rose is strong and will linger on my skin for days after this. I look at my ring. I have tried not to do so before this, but the irony is too much to resist. A rose shaped ring. Roses are for love and passion, all of the things that I have always craved in my relationships with men but have never been able to successfully execute. At least not at the same time. Harry, in his own way, loved me. I'm sure of it sometimes. But I always had that horrible nagging voice that told me it was the idea family; mine to be exact, that he loved. Seamus was more eager than Harry, and the sex was not bad. At least he wasn't gay. His eyes didn't squeeze shut when he touched me. It didn't have to be pitch black when we made love. He was attracted to me. He told me that he always had been and that if he could have a dying wish it would be to spend his last hours with his only living friend. It turns out that he did. Sometimes I wish that I had not been so foolhardily in love with the famous Harry Potter. Sometimes I wish that I could have loved someone like Seamus and that we could have had a fairy tale ending and rode off into the sunset. But fairy tales, though I wish this was not true, are not real. I have tried to make them real. I tried to force a relationship with Harry, but the pieces never quite fit together. I tried to make the perfect ending with my version of the perfect, handsome, tragically orphaned hero. But in the end I only lied to myself.

I wonder if Lucius knows, or at least guesses my regrets. He seems to know an awful lot about me.

Perhaps being married to Lucius won't be _quite so_ awful. I sound like a hypocrite, even to myself. An enemy is how I have always looked at him. Until very recently I have never seen him as a lover, I have yet to see him as a husband, or (and my stomach churns to even think it) a father. . . .

I glance down at my abdomen, barely visible though the thick layer of bath foam. I could be pregnant. I wouldn't even know. I haven't had a period since mum died. I've since learned that nerves, and lack of proper nutrition, can do that.

I lean my head back against the alabaster and let half of my long hair fall into the water. I must look appropriate here. My red hair fanned out around me like some kind of a fiery halo, my skin as white as the marble. Eventually I muster the energy to wash my hair with a surprisingly orange smelling shampoo. Feeling slightly rejuvenated, I sit up and drain the tub.

Tinker appears in the room with a loud _crack_.

"Tinker is bringing Miss a towel and clothing!" she squeaks.

I frown as I wrap a luxurious white towel around myself.

"Where are _my_ clothing?"

"Tinker is putting them in the wash," she says looking at the ground and fidgeting. Was she lying? I had a sneaking suspicion that the "wash" was actually the "bin."

I say nothing though and followed her into an adjacent bedroom.

_My_ bedroom.

Again Lucius manages to surprise me. He must know me so much better than I know him. I had expected the theme of my new room to counterpart that of the enormous bathroom. But it does not. The bedspread is lavender silk and the vanity looks as though it is made of maple. I smile.

Tinker lays a dusty blue dress on the bed and, with a small smile of her own, leaves me to discover my suite by alone. The light streaking in through the vast window has a slightly warmer quality now. I don't know what time it is but I must have been a long time in the bath whilst pondering my fate.

I walk around the room, well rooms actually, and trail my fingers over the furniture. The is a sitting room next to the bedroom with a grand looking fireplace, perfect for floo travel, and dove gray sofas.

I eventually remove my towel and slip into the dress. I braid my hair, still wet, and stand at the window. There is a quidditch pitch in the distance, remnant of Draco's school days I'm sure, and then almost too far away to see, another Mannor. It was smaller to be sure, and hard to make out.

"Ginevra," a voice breaks the silence and a spin around to come face to face with Lucius.

He is standing very close to me. Too close.

"Hello," I am still whispering.

"You look well," he appraises me and trails a finger down my cheek. "Are the rooms to your liking? Tinker seems to think that you enjoy them."

Of course he would have asked for an update before coming to see me. It is so entirely like him that I'm not sure why it surprises me.

"Yes, they are." My throat is so tight it is hard to say more.

"Are you feeling well?" He frowns.

I nod.

"Well enough for company?"

"What do you mean?" I knit my eyebrows together.

"You're-" He pauses and I stare blankly at him. I have seen him, angry, in the throes of passion, I have seen him witty and clever and many other things to be sure, but never nervous. "You're brother is here to see you."


	14. Chapter 14

Her face pales, even more if it were possible, when I tell her that her brother is in the drawing room.

"Shall I send him away?"

"No," she breathes. "I'll see him."

She pads barefoot in front of me down the hallway. The dusty blue robes she wears suit her, though she is so thin I can see the sharp angles of her shoulder blades through the fabric.

I offer her my arm and we descend the marble staircase. The Malfoy family portraits are pretending not to watch her as we pass. Her hair is drying from her bath and tendrils of it curl at the base of her neck, the rest in a thick braid.

A pair of silk, dove grey slippers appears wit a soft _pop_ on the second landing. Her feet must have been freezing on the marble.

There are hushed voices emulating from the drawing room when we approach it. Percy, it transpires, is not alone. The Patil girl is with him. She is still wearing black robes as a mark of respect for her fallen sister. Her hair is pulled back and her face looks drawn.

"Percy," It is Ginevra who speaks first. Percy and his fiancée look up, almost startled to see her. Her spineless brother looks at her in astonishment for a fleeting moment and then finally his eyes settle on me and harden.

"Ginny," he says stiffly, "you look well."

An awkward silence ensues and I feel compelled to let brother and sister speak. If they are to be on good terms, I will have to tolerate his presence at our wedding and on major holidays.

"Miss Patil," I say. "Will you allow me to give you a tour of the greenhouses?"

She looks at her betrothed almost alarmed, but has no choice but to accept. If we are to be on good terms, she will have to tolerate my presence at her wedding and on all major holidays.

"Of course," she says in a hallow voice.

I lead her through the greenhouse and drone on a little about the history of Malfoy Manor. She pretends to listen; she even nods her head and asks a few questions. She will be useful to Percy at Ministry functions, and I cannot help but think they are well suited. Much better suited than Ginny and I.

I watch her pause at the violets. Her dark eyes close and she inhales sharply.

"They were my sister's favorite." She says brokenly.

Afraid that she will make a scene, I offer to take her back to the drawing room, praying that she accepts and that Ginevra and Percy are done speaking. I cannot abide more than one crying witch in 48 hours.

But, to my dismay, she shakes her head.

"No, I don't want to disrupt them," she says softly.

"Allow me then to show you the family tapestry Miss Patil."

The tapestry is in a drawing room in the east wing of the Manor. The portraits do not hiss at her or whisper behind their hands the way they did at Ginny on the night of the ball. But then again, I muse, we were both nude and unwed on the day bed in this very room.

I make a mental note to have that daybed moved to her private rooms. I would like an encore performance of that night.

"That is my mother, Eloise, and my father, Abraxas." I point at the thin gold thread on the tapestry that marks my parents. I'm not sure if it would be prudent to show where by beloved's name will appear when we tie the knot, so I refrain.

She nods solemnly. I believe she is from pure stock, though newer than the Malfoy's. She may have a similar family tree.

I decide that it is a good time to see if our fiancées are finished speaking. It may have been unwise to show her the family archives so near her sister's death.

But as we near the west wing of the Manor, raised voices reverberate through the halls.

"-OH? SAINT PERCY NOW IS IT? YOU DON'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT MY CIRCUMSTA-"

"DAD WOULD TURN IN HIS GRAVE IF HE KNEW GINNY! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS?"

It seems that young Mr. Weasley is not so spineless after all.

"HOW DARE YOU?" It is Ginny's turn to shout now. A side that I know she has but have never seen. "YOU BROKE MUM"S HEART! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY NIGHTS SHE STAYED UP CRYING, YOU SELFISH GIT!"

"I MAY HAVE DONE THINGS THAT I AM NOT PROUD OF BEFORE OUR PARENTS DIED, BUT I'M NOT WHORING MYSELF TO DAD'S WORST ENEMY GINNY!"

"WHORE?" She says with an outraged shriek.

"OH, I FORGOT YOU'RE ACTUALLY MARRYING HIM. HOW LONG DO YOU EXPECT THE CHARADE TO LAST GINNY? DO YOU REALLY THINK HE MEANS TO MARRY YOU? OR DO YOU, LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE, SEE THIS FOR WHAT IT REALLY IS?"

"And what exactly is that Mr. Weasly?"

Lucius enters the room with Padma trailing behind. My face is hot and I itch to retrieve my wand from my dress pocket and jinx the pants off of Percy.

Lucius' face is smooth, but is eyes are steely and hard.

Percy stammers incoherently for a moment, too embarrassed to gather his thoughts.

"The wedding," Lucius intones, "Is in three weeks Mr. Weasley. We hope you can control yourself long enough to attend."

I feel his hand on my arm and am soothed in a small way. It feels good to be defended by Lucius to my idiot brother.

Percy glares daggers at him, but says nothing. Padma slides up to him, slipping her hand in his.

"I do not have to tell you that I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my home again Mr. Weasley. And,"

Lucius holds up a hand to stifle what looked like an impending interruption.

"If you slander my wife again, that you may regret it."

A potent threat.

Percy still says nothing but nods curtly.

When he is gone I look at Lucius questioningly.

"Three weeks?"

"If that is acceptable to you," he acquiesces. "Then yes."

"I was never aware that I had a choice in the matter."

There's the Ginny I know. I have the urge to press, but he just defended me to my sycophant turned noble brother. And the way he is staring at me is interesting.

He gives me a look as if to say 'you don't.' But instead he says nothing at all and offers me his arm.

I take it begrudgingly.

I expect him to lead me back upstairs, or maybe to the dinning room. But Tinker appears with a cloak and shoes that I slip into as I stare suspiciously at Lucius.

He shrugs and I almost want to laugh. A side of him I haven't seen.

"I thought it might be nice to take a walk around the grounds," he drawls. "Show you the rest of your new home."

Home.

I feel like I'm in a hotel. But I go with him anyway.

The air is crisp and cold and somewhere I can smell burning wood. I love this smell. Actually, autumn is my favorite season. I mention this to Lucius and he vows he will have a Halloween ball next year for me. I try not to smile, but fail. I'm sure Lucius notices.

He guides me around the outside of the manor to the rose gardens.

"It is a pity that you cannot see them for the first time at their peak Ginevra." Lucius declared. "They are breathtaking in June."

I glance down at my ring. What is it with him and roses?

We walk a little father from the house to see the stables. Lucius explains that he kept horses as a boy and asks me if I have ever ridden. I don't think that Thestrals count, and he gives me an odd look and a half laugh. This should comfort me, I know, but it feels more intimate than having sex, and I'm not sure if I like it or not. I have craved this kind of human interaction for months and months.

"What is over there?" I point down a broad stone path that leads through the trees.

"A Quidditch pitch and the property line of the estate."

For the first time, I see traces of sadness from the blond wizard. Draco must have spent a lot of his time there when he was alive.

I want to see the Quidditch Pitch, but I can come back alone, when Lucius is schmoozing someone at the Ministry.

As we head back to the manor it begins to grow dark. It's dark early lately. The wind picks up and I feel a shudder go though me as it hits my exposed neck.

Lucius looks oddly at me as I begin to unbraid my hair, but I don't give a shit. It falls free and wavy past my shoulders.

When we walk back into the Manor there are candles burning in their sconces in the entry way, and something that smells wonderful is emulating from the dining room.

"Dinner is ready if Master and Misses is ready to eat!"

Lucius dismisses the elf and I feel a pang as I think of _S.P.E.W. _

As wonderful as the food smells, I tell Lucius that I'd like to freshen up first. Nothing I have ever wanted to do before eating before, but he seems pleased anyway.

I somehow remember my way back to my own chambers and throw what must be a very expensive cloak on the floor. It disappears less than a minute later and I have a suspicion if I looked in one of the enormous wardrobes that I would find it there, perfectly hung.

The dress goes next and it too vanishes. I slide into something warmer. For having so much money, Lucius keeps this place freezing!

I flip through a pile of owl post that I find on my vanity. I have been invited to tea by several women who are old enough to be my mother. I through a few of them in the small porcelain wastebasket, I'm sure Lucius will be thrilled to know that I'm snubbing people already. But I can't stand the thought of spending an afternoon with Helena Avery. There's another invitation here that catches my attention though. It is in a plain brown envelope, with a simple blue crest sealing it closed.

It is from Stella Bedevire. She has invited me to lunch with her and other guests. I liked her. I think I'll go.


	15. Chapter 15

I have been at Malfoy Manor for a week since my run in with Percy. I have not heard from him or Padma since their hasty departure, but I'm trying not to over think the situation. I'm channeling my energy down more constructive avenues; my health being one of them. I feel healthier and I think I've gained weight. My clothing fits better than it has since Dad died. Lucius had a few articles of clothing placed in my wardrobes, but not a full wardrobe, and my clothing from my old life seems dingy and old to me now. More so now than it ever did before. I'm sure it has something to do with my surroundings, a bedroom the size of The Burrow, and bathroom just as enormous, and five near empty wardrobes.

Lucius left early this morning, but I was already awake, having tea and toast in a breakfast nook. I was almost startled to see him. He has been gone frequently these past several days. He leaves either early in the morning before I'm awake, or stays closed up in his study and vanishes when I take my morning walk.

I put down my book (a bodice ripping romance novel) when I saw him standing there, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I have said your name three times Ginevra," he said crisply. "I hope I'm not disrupting you."

He was actually, but I chose not to say it aloud.

"Yes?" I knew I was being rude, but it was more polite than I wanted to be so I took the compromise.

"I would like you to go shopping today," he dropped a bag of gold on the table. "You look well and I would like to see you in something more. . . . _becoming_."

His lip curled and he sneered at my night gown, but said nothing that might set me off or make me refuse the gold.

He left after telling me that he would be home late evening and to stay at Stella's luncheon for cocktails if I wanted. The real reason he wanted me to go shopping.

Tinker has insisted on coming with me, to carry my bags, and undoubtedly to keep tabs on me.

I feel the weight of the gold in my hands like a bag of marbles or stones. I have never held so much money before, more than a thousand Galleons. But this must be nothing to Lucius.

Diagon Alley is buzzing with people. It is almost completely recovered from the war. I usually see people I know, those of which are left at any rate, but today no one seems to notice me. I'm wearing a dark red cloak and my hair in a sleek bun at the base of my neck.

The first shop I walk into is one that I have never been able to afford so much as a pair of socks in before. The bell rings my arrival and Tinker hovers near my feet.

"Ah," says a well dressed young clerk. "Miss Weasley!"

She crosses the distance of the shop and takes my cloak. She has light blonde hair in a neat chignon, and a smart set of purple robes on.

"Mister Malfoy informed us yesterday that you would be in," she beams. "What are we looking for today?"

"Clothing?" I offer lamely.

The clerk bursts into laughter.

"But of course miss! Why don't you go back to be measured and I'll bring you some things that you might like."

"That sounds nice." It really does. I don't even know where to begin.

The clerk, Georgiana, brings me several robes that would make Hagrid look elegant. She declares that they make me look like a celebrity, and that they are very fashionable. I end up buying several sets in a variety of colors. I also buy a cloak and gloves that are lined with rabbit fur.

But when I go out into the street again I feel lost and out of sorts.

"Miss!" Tinker squeaks. "If Tinker can be so bold Miss, Tinker has heard from other elves that Gorge and Pines is having fine clothing for their young Mistresses."

I feel a rush of gratitude towards Tinker. I nod and let her lead me through the street. I pass a group of witches who look at me with interest. I know my picture has been all over that rag of Rita Skeeter's. They must know that I am engaged to Lucius Malfoy, and I'm sure they are wondering what he's doing with the likes of me. I wonder it myself. Not that I think Lucius is better than me. He isn't, contrary to what he may believe. But I admit that his social standing, his connections, and his money will always succeed my own.

The witches stare at me with thinly veiled looks and I feel hot and uncomfortable. I slip into a shop with out so much as glancing up at the sign.

Tinker follows me dutifully.

"Miss Weasley?" An older witch who I have never met before looks up from her perch at the counter as I walk in. Does everyone in England know my name?

"Hello," I murmur. And I fully look around the shop, desperate not to exit into the group of gossip mongers outside.

It is small, but I smile as I examine the clothing. There are robes and cloaks along with accessories. But what really thrills me, what I hope will drive Lucius up the wall, is the muggle clothing I see.

"Can I help you find anything Miss Weasley?" The older woman, maybe she would be Mum's age, moves from behind the counter. She has black hair streaked with silver, and is wearing magenta lipstick.

"Yes," I know I shouldn't do this, but it cannot be helped. "I'm looking for some muggle clothing." I run a pair of black stretch pants through my fingers.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Oh, well I'm sure I can help you find something spectacular. Is this for an event? Perhaps a muggle born charity?"

I'm sure that is the only reason she can think Lucius Malfoy's fiancée would ever consider wearing muggle clothing. But I promptly dismiss her of that notion.

"No, no I enjoy muggle clothing actually." I hold up the stretch pants for further inspection, dismissing her puzzled look. "I'll try these on."

"Of course Miss! I'll show you back to the fitting room, my name is Rhoda if you need anything; alterations, a cardigan to match. . ."

"Yes, a cardigan would be lovely." I'm feeling bolder now, and I relish in the knowledge that this will get back to Lucius in one way or another. Either he will read about it, if Rhoda blabs to the Beetle, or he will see me in the clothing at one point or another. I suppose we live together now, after all.

Tinker hangs up my cloak and robes as I shrug out of them and into the iniquitous black stretch pants.

They look _fantastic_.

They fit in all the right places. They hug my bum and legs and have a small slit up the backs of the ankle. Rhoda brings me a lavender tank top to try on with it, and a cream colored cardigan.

I don't understand why Hermione didn't wear more muggle clothing, because the things Rhoda is bringing are amazing.

I end up buying three pairs of stretch pants, six tanks, five tight skirts, a pair of something Rhoda called _jeans_, and three cardigans. I also purchase new unmentionables and a new night gown as well. Rhoda tried to get me to try on new lingerie, but I couldn't do it. Baby steps. I think the lacie bras and undies will have to suffice for now. And anyway, Lucius hasn't touched me since I came to Malfoy Manor.

I half expected him to want his due for saving my life, but he hasn't tried anything. I'm not really sure how I feel about it either.

"What about shoes Miss Weasley?" Rhoda brings me out of my musings.

"Yes," I pause. I was going to say more, but Rhoda is gone and back in flash with several boxes of shoes levitating behind her.

Seven pairs of heels, two boots, and three ballet flats later, I arrive back at the manor. Lucius, true to his word, is gone.

I find that I don't have time to dwell on it though; I have to be fashionably late to Stella Bedivere's in twenty minutes.

Tinker is a life saver when it comes to getting ready on time. She vanishes my clothing and recommends a set of the robes I purchased earlier today. I twist my hair in a chignon, inspired by Georgiana, and sweep on a light dusting of makeup.

Even I have to admit that I look nice.

I am ten minutes late when I arrive in Stella's floo.

"Ginevra!" She exclaims, rising to her feet. She wears her long blonde hair loose and a black dress with flowing sleeves.

There are three other witches there that I have never met.

"This is Ginevra Weasley!" She introduces me to the other women. They all seem to be in there late twenties to early thirties.

"This is Myrna Foal," she gestures to a witch with dark brown tresses and a narrow countenance. "Heather Nott," she gestures to another witch in pale blue robes with smooth black hair in a neat bob.

"A pleasure, Miss Weasley," she says through a sip of tea.

"And this is Persephone Gregory," she gestures to yet another woman in a bottle green dress.

I have a seat when all of the introductions have been made. Stella does not summon an elf to pour our tea, as I half expect her to, but pours it herself while talking amicably with her guests. If anyone else thinks this is strange, they keep it to themselves.

Stella inquires about Myrna's new brother in law, an Italian ambassador who works at the Ministry. The other women listen interestedly.

"Perhaps Lucius has seen him at the Ministry, Ginevra?" Heather Nott is looking intently at me.

"Perhaps," I say slowly. "I'll have to remember to ask him." I'm sure I'll do nothing of the kind.

"So Ginevra," Heather presses. "When will the wedding be? Do you have a date set?"

Oh god! They are all looking expectantly at me. I'm sure they are going to want every detail of a wedding I'm not planning. A coordinator stopped by the Manor last week to meet with me, at Lucius' insistence, and I left most of the planning to her.

"Two weeks," I sip my tea to stall. "I had a dress fitting yesterday."

They all look at each other appreciatively.

Heather Nott looks as though she has every intention of asking another question when Stella intervenes.

"Yes," Stella says breezily. "Malfoy Manor will be a splendid venue. I hear the guest list will be _very_ exclusive; less than seventy people."

This is news to me, but I nod anyway.

"Ginevra," Heather presses. "Forgive me, but how did you and Lucius meet? The two of you seems so-"

"Lunch will be served in the drawing room!" Squeaks a small male elf.

Lunch is served, by elves this time, and the timing couldn't be more perfect. The other witches move into the drawing room and I trail behind, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. Stella, however, looks back at me and winks slyly.

As I watch her entertain, I find myself wanting to know more about Stella Bedivere. Her Manor is smaller than Malfoy Manor by more than half, but lavish all the same. The drawing room is light and airy, and definitely has a feminine ambiance. Cream colored upholstered chases and love seats with lush looking light blue throw pillows. Rich marble coffee and end tables, and a large bay window with blue silk cushions in the seat.

She inquires about her guests, myself included, but steers the conversation away from any probing questions Heather Nott might have about Lucius and myself. She seems to remember small details about her guests and has a way of flattering people without making it seem like work. The conversation stays light through lunch and Stella looks at me knowingly a few times when the others' attention is otherwise occupied.

I hope Lucius doesn't expect me to be like this; charming and engaging. The old me might have been able to pull it off, but certainly not now.

After a late lunch, Heather is the first to leave; explaining that she has a dinner engagement at a snooty restaurant in London.

The other ladies stay. Myrna is telling Stella, Persephone, and I guess me, about her "nightmare" holiday she and her new husband took to Paris last month.

Stella tells her own, and much more entertaining, tale of her trip to the Greek islands. She met a younger man named Eros and spent the entire four weeks wearing nothing but him and a smile.

Apparently they met in the flower market and he saved her from certain embarrassment when she unwittingly made a social blunder. Then he took her to dinner and introduced her to some kind of liqueur unique to his island.

"Do you keep in touch?" I cannot help but ask, after she finishes.

"No," Stella says wistfully. "He's engaged to a native girl. And anyway," she smiles beguilingly. "I've been married once already, and it was enough. My trysts and friends can keep me company."

Myrna looks as though she has swallowed a lemon, but says nothing.

"Ladies," Stella stands up. "Who is joining me for my signature cocktails? I think I've perfected the recipe and have been dying to try them out on someone. The liquere I use is the same one introduced to me in Greece."

Myrna is the first to refuse.

"Thank you for your hospitality Stella," though she doesn't look at all as though she means it. "But I really must be on my way."

"Regretfully," Persephone also rises. "I must be going too. My mother is arriving from British Columbia tomorrow, and I need to make some last minute arrangements."

I feel like I should leave too. I don't want to overstay my welcome, but before I can even speak Stella says;

"Oh, that's a pity. Ginevra and I will have to try and finish them ourselves. Another time perhaps."

She looks expectantly at me and I nod in spite of myself.

When the rest of her company is gone Stella breathes a great sigh.

"I apologize for my other guests Ginevra, may I call you Ginny?" I nod again. "I wanted to get to know you better today, but Heather Nott is. . ." She trails off without finishing her sentence, but it isn't necessary.

"Why don't you try one of my cocktails?" She beams.

A tray of light blue frothy drinks appear on the coffee table and she hands one to me. It is the best drink I've ever had. I'll have to be careful; I can't taste the alcohol. I don't want to have to stumble "home," too drunk to apperate or floo.

Stella tells me, at my quarry, more about her vacation to Greece and the interesting young Eros.

I haven't had a conversation with another woman like this in a long time, and after four drinks, I feel my guard coming down. It feels good to have a friend. My friendship with Padma was always one-sided. I always felt as though she spoke to me when she needed a shoulder to cry on and there was nobody else.

"And you were married before?" The question, though none of my business, slips form my lips before I can stop it.

Stella too, has had four drinks and doesn't seem to mind.

"Yes," She sighs, flipping her long blonde mane over one shoulder. "What a disaster that was. This was his vacation home." She smiles impishly. "I got it in return for not sullying his reputation after we divorced. Do you like it?"

"Oh yes," I gush. "I love the color scheme and the bay windows."

"Thank you," she graciously intones.

We talk for another three hours. I feel as though a weight has been lifted off of me. I feel giddy and light hearted for the first time since I don't know when. I had forgotten what idle chat felt like. Or what it felt like to be in the company of someone you truly enjoy. Though to be fair, Lucius hasn't been as bad as I thought he would be.

"So Ginny, I have to know, how _is_ Lucius?" She raises her eyebrows so there is no misunderstanding to her meaning.

"Oh." I'm not really sure what to say. We've only done it the one time, and I was drunker than I am now. I tell her as much.

"I see," she nurses another sip of the blue liquid. "Have you tried anything to encourage him to be more, ah, friendly?"

"No." I say too quickly. "I'm not really sure how to broach the subject." Not that I've even thought about it, but the alcohol and Stella's stories are making me feel daring and a little frisky.

"Well, my best alliances have always been black underwear and red lipstick." Stella looks at me appraisingly. "But I think, considering your hair, that clear lip gloss will be marvelous. Tighter clothing would be amiss either," she recommends.

When I leave through the floo I thank her and we make plans for the following week, right before the wedding, to get together.

I stumble out of the fireplace in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. I meant to get off at the grate in my private chambers but was afraid I would miss it.

The Malfoy family portraits either stare stonily at me or look away as I walk by. I'm sure no Malfoy in history has _ever_ been drunk. Snobs.

My rooms are warmly lit and there is a fire in the hearth when I arrive. I also smell the faint aroma of lavender.

My shopping bags are nowhere to be seen. I'm sure Tinker put them away the moment I left Stella's. My bed looks very inviting to me and I plop onto it as soon as I shuck my cloak onto the floor.

I should be exhausted after my shopping excursion this morning and then drinks with Stella. But I'm feeling a little restless. The story of the amazingly handsome sounding Eros makes me feel jumpy, but not in a bad way. For the third time today I undress and start looking for my new nightgown.

I start in the dresser closest to me but find only Weasley sweaters. I close the drawer a little too hard and look in another drawer but alas, socks and nylons.

Where would Tinker have put it?

I open the maple armoire and find it, and a matching robe I don't remember buying, hanging neatly on a hanger. I also find something else, the nefarious black stretch pants.

I can't help but slip them on with a matching black tank top. I feel just as amazing as I did in the shop, even better after Stella's party. I look in the mirror and pull my hair out of the chignon and let it flow freely down my shoulders. Then I reach into the top drawer of my vanity until I find it, clear lip gloss. Stella, it seems, was right. This suits me perfectly.

I feel sexy and naughty and a little bit drunk. _I wonder if Lucius is home._

"Tinker?" I whisper softly, unsure how to summon the house elf.

"Miss is calling Tinker?" The elf pops into existence with a deep curtsey in her tea towel.

"Is Lucius here Tinker?"

"Yes Miss!" She squeaks. "Shall Tinker tell Master that Miss is wanting him?"

"No!" I say far too loudly. "No Tinker, that won't be necessary. Where is he? Do you know?"

"Master is in the library Miss!"

"Thank you Tinker," I smile to myself.

"It is a pleasure to serve you miss! Is you needing anything else?"

"A firewhisky?" I don't know what I'm doing, but it feels good. The drink appears before me and Tinker disappears with a _crack_.

I shoot it down and feel it burn all the way down my esophagus and into my stomach. I'm going to find Lucius. I'm not sure what he'll say about my attire, but I'm prepared to find out. It's been ages since I drank, the ball notwithstanding, and my tolerance is low.

I make my way to the library, half stumbling. The portraits whisper and eye me with even more disregard than they did when I was only drunk. They rustle in their frames as I pass in my muggle clothing.

The library door is open a hair and the fire burns lowly in the grate. Lucius is sitting, feet propped up on a low foot stool, with a book in hand. I have never seen him so relaxed. He is wearing spectacles low on his nose, and takes a sip of an amber colored drink.

I don't know if it is because I'm drunk, or lonely, or even grateful to him, maybe it's all three. But whatever the reason is, I cannot deny that I want him right now.

He looks up at me with a furrow in his brow as I push the door open and slide into the room.


End file.
